===========================================================================
Archivist note:
Kellie Matthews-Simmon's email address is now matthewk@ucsu.colorado.edu
===========================================================================
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Prologue
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:41:30 -0500 (CDT)
The following post is part of the novel Silence, which has already been
submitted to and rejected by Pocket Books, for reasons unclear but probably
having to do with the absence of a "Big Threat" (tm). It is a character-
driven work, so if you're an action junkie, look elsewhere.
I thank Julia Kosatka (who has half of my brain!) not only for posting this
sucker (for some reason I can't seem to do it!), but for JLP's nightmare-
sequence as well. It added a wonderful touch to the whole.
Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply
Dedication
It is a widely accepted fact that most groups of people (as of now,
homo sapiens is our only example) tend to think of themselves as "human."
I suspect this is true of every different tribe which has ever inhabited this
planet. Each human language has a word whose meaning approximates
"human", and usually is used to refer to the specific ethnic sub-group whose
language it appears in.
Gradually, properly, our ethnocentrism is giving way to the concept
that every variety of homo-sapiens is human. For some, the definition has
expanded to include other species on the planet, and possibly even the planet
itself. The perception is evolving, "human" begins to mean "sentient",
"rational", to include any being which has thoughts, and communicates.
Eventually, when we find other sentient species, the definition will probably
expand to include them as well, once we conquer our inherent xenophobia.
The idea of "human" encompassing other than homo-sapiens is strong
in science fiction, especially in Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry's original
concept of the United Federation of Planets symbolizes this idea. Diane
Duane expressed this philosophy eloquently in her original series novel The
Wounded Sky. Vulcans, Andorians, Tellarites, Hortas, even (gasp!)
Klingons, all are human. Not because they have a brain, two legs, two arms
and walk upright (a Horta doesn't even have legs!); but because they are all
reasoning, communicating beings. The sooner we learn this, the sooner we
will cease to have wars over the color of our skin, over the religions we
practice, over the kind of leaders we choose. We are all human. There is
no "them", just "us". This novel was written in honor of that philosophy.
Kellie Matthews-Simmons
August, 1993
__________________________________________________________________________
PROLOGUE
The ship was badly damaged, once-powerful engines nearly powerless,
almost all systems but life-support down. Its pilot was immune to damage,
but, unfortunately, its cargo was not. Already many of them had been
irreversibly damaged by cell-mutating radiation left by its encounter with a
cosmic string. With regret, the pilot shut down the outer banks of stasis
units, allowing the ruined cargo to expire peacefully, without ever gaining
consciousness, their bodies lending some small defense against the lethal rays
let in through the massive hull-breach the string had left. The pilot sang
sadly, both in farewell to those who had Gone, and because it would not be
able to complete its mission. There would be one less group of unique beings.
On the outer periphery of its senses, a disturbance caught its attention, the
cluttered racket of living minds. Its dull glow brightened. Life meant a world
was near, and where there was one world, there were usually several. Excitedly
it began to search, and finding, grew dim once more. None of them were
suitable, being gaseous giants, or rocky, airless husks. Only one world in the
system was able to support life, and it was only marginally suitable, being too
hot, and thinly-atmosphered for what remained of its cargo. It would not have
been right even were it not already inhabited.
It continued to search, to the limits of its range, and found nothing. Its glow
faded still further, almost gone. It did not want to give up, but what choice
had it? It sent a pulsing song into the vast emptiness, a cry to its siblings
for help. No answering echo reached it, but then, often replies did not come
for a few moments, as its siblings were far-scattered and intent on their own
missions. Ordinarily it found time irrelevant, but what was a moment to it
was a lifetime to its cargo. It could not wait for an answer.
In desperation it turned its attention again to the inhabited planet. The world
was not without beauty, with its fierce bronze sky, and sere, brilliant
landscapes. The singer sensed that once the world had been different, had
hosted seas, and been a green world, like that which its cargo had called
home. Otherwise it could not have evolved the water-based lifeforms so
similar to the singer's cargo. And similar they were, bipedal, beings with a
single brain, varied sense organs, sexually reproductive. The now-absent seas
must have been rich in copper salts, for the life-sustaining fluid of these
beings was based on copper, instead of iron.
Socially, their organization was not dissimilar, they lived in tribal and
family groups, though here the female sex was dominant, rather than the male.
Their mental faculties were more highly developed than were those of the
singer's shipment, and their civilization far more advanced. They had not yet
developed spaceflight, but it was not far away. Most importantly, as far as
the singer was concerned, they had accepted the notion that life probably
existed elsewhere, in different and varied forms.
Though such was forbidden, it moved toward the inhabited world. It could
not allow its cargo to perish, it could not give up hope. The world would be a
temporary refuge for it and the beings in its care, until one of its siblings
could come to help. It steered the disabled vessel as well as it could, but the
heat of entry damaged it still further, more of the lives it contained ceased,
but not all. When it finally rested on the planet's surface less than half of
its cargo remained alive. It no longer had enough individuals to make its
mission viable. It dulled to near invisibility, brooding on the inequitable
nature of the universe. It had broken many laws to save its cargo, yet had
failed to preserve enough of them for the species to continue.
After some time, it ceased brooding. The inhabitants of the planet, curious,
had come near. They used primitive tools and instruments to measure, to
inspect; they used their formidable minds to evaluate. It became interested.
There was a possibility there, of viability. Eagerly, it began to work out the
necessary details, what amino acids would need to be restructured, what
chromosomal tinkering would be necessary. Requiring examples of the new
species for study, it opened the ship, allowing access to its interior, then
closed it again, trapping the explorers inside. Commanding the small
worker-machines to life, it gave the visitors sleep, then went to work,
gathering samples, changing, tampering with the codes of life deep within
each cell. Within a short time, it had implanted the first generation of
adapted beings within femalesof both species. It was pleased. They were
perfect. Then it woke the sleepers of both worlds, and released them from the
ship.
The original inhabitants, though shocked at first, extended cautious
friendship to the newcomers. When the adapted ones were born, it caused
much consternation. It was obvious the new lives were a blending of both
species, yet none of the sleepers could account for how they had been
conceived. The singer found their dismay somewhat amusing, not being
sexually reproductive itself.
As the adapted ones matured, they began to manifest extraordinary abilities,
abilities neither group of progenitors had shown particular aptitude for. The
singer wondered briefly which of the thousand changes it had made had
produced those abilities, but then the adapted ones began to take mates of
their own, both among themselves, and from the unchanged later children of
their parents, and it became too caught up in the wonder of watching the
changes it had made take firm hold and replicate in a new generation to
bother. It was pleased. Its experiment had been successful.
A third generation had already been conceived when one of the singer's siblings
replied to its distress call. It listened to the singer's explanations with
dismay, and called other siblings to debate. Laws had been broken, a thing to
be punished, yet because of that a new life-form had been created. Like the
other life-forms they sought to preserve and protect, it was unique. It was
sentient. It was self-reproducing. It was innocent. They could not punish the
life-form for existing where it should not, but its presence was disruptive to
the life already naturally evolved and established on that world.
By the time a decision was made, the fourth generation were nearly adults.
The new species, though longer-lived than the original cargo, were still short-
spanned in comparison to the singers. Since they tended to mate with their
own kind rather than with either parent stock, they were fixing certain alleles
in their genes which might eventually prove destructive. Work would have
to be done to prevent this, and also they had to be removed from the planet
on which they did not belong. The singer was given a new ship, and the
responsibility of collecting all the descendants of the non-natives. It placed
them in stasis and made the first of the necessary genetic modifications while
an appropriate and uninhabited world was found for them.
The only appropriate world found was one subject to periodic fluctuations in
its protective upper-atmosphere. To compensate for that, the singer situated
their primary dwelling deep underground, where the earth itself lent protection
during the dangerous time. It also left one of its nodes in place to continue
making genetic corrections as the species matured. For a little while it
watched its 'children' to be sure they were well established and safe, then it
gave itself back to the interstellar winds.
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply
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From: JULIA@Jetson.UH.EDU
To: jfy@cis.ksu.edu
Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 1
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:42:04 -0500 (CDT)
INTRODUCTION
High above the planet, a massive white-silver ship glided smoothly into orbit,
easily avoiding other, smaller vessels, and various pieces of orbital junk.
Though she had never been intended to enter a planetary atmosphere, her
lines were sleek, aerodynamic, as if her designers had indulged an eye for
aesthetic, as well as function.
A few of the smaller ships darted close, their pilots jockeying to find a spot
from which to get a good look. In an earlier time, those ships would have
been a crowd on a wharf, waiting for the ship to dock. Here, she merely
floated, silently, seemingly oblivious to their presence. After a little while
her admirers slowly dispersed, taking their memories, leaving her alone.
###
Below, farther below even than the planet's surface, a woman woke, startled,
staring wide-eyed into the once comfortable darkness, heart pounding, breath
coming shallow and fast. Something had changed. She felt as if she had been
suddenly picked up, and then set down a few inches from her original
position, everything had shifted slightly. Between one moment and the next,
something important had changed. But what?
She sat up, wrapping her arms around drawn-up knees, rocking slightly as
she opened out, attempting to identify what it was that had awakened her.
For many long, frustrating minutes she left herself exposed, but nothing came
to her. Finally, with a sigh, she stopped trying. Whatever it was, she was
not destined to know... yet. She would have to wait. A strange sense of
anticipation constricted her throat, kept her pulse elevated. Knowing she
would not be able to sleep now, she dressed, and left her dwelling in search of
food.
###
CHAPTER ONE
Jean-Luc sat down on a rock and dangled his bare feet in the cool water
of the stream. It was his favorite spot to hide, on those rare summer
afternoons when he could manage to slip away from the vineyard. Best of all,
Robert was no longer small enough to easily slip through the underbrush to
follow him. He leaned back again against the rough bark of the oak and just
listened to the quiet sounds of the water, the light breeze, and discordant
but somehow comforting sound of his father's cultivator in the distance.
He closed his eyes and sighed, wishing, for a moment, that he could stay there
forever.
As he sat, peacefully soaking up the stillness, he began to notice that
the cultivator had developed a peculiarly rhythymic boom. He sighed again.
Time to go back. He knew his father would be upset enough with the cultivator
acting up again-- if he found out that his younger son had left the vineyard
without finishing his work he would be doubly upset. He opened his eyes and
reached up to grab a branch to pull himself up. It was hard, smooth, and
coldly metallic under his hand. He knew what was happening, tried to stop it,
but couldn't.
he screamed,
His scream ended in a silent sob. He could feel himself screaming, but
there was no sound beyond the rhythmic booming of the cultivator. He looked
with horror at the stream, now encased in a transparent black tube. His body
continued to stand, and began to walk along the catwalk that had replaced the
stony stream-bank. Heart pounding, he tried to grab the tree only to discover
it had become a dead-black pylon supporting another catwalk above him. He
jerked his hands away in revulsion.
Jean-Luc looked wildly around, and found that all the trees had become
lifeless black columns.
.
His breath came in short, painful gasps. His body, which no longer
obeyed his commands, was sheathed in a cold sweat. Before him he saw a gray
door with the word SICKBAY printed on it. He sighed in relief as his body
moved him toward the door and it slid open
.
Picard lurched upright in bed, panting, his ears ringing with the scream
that had finally ripped itself free of his raw and burning throat.
"Lights up, full," he ordered, his voice a raspy travesty.
An involuntary shudder shook him. He cautiously explored the left side
of his face, swallowing hard, unable to shake that last dream-image from his
mind. The image of Beverly Crusher, face dead-white, flaming hair hidden
behind a black cowl, reaching forward to place the half-mask on his face,
its attached laser-sight piercing the darkness in a sanguine beam. He
clenched his fists and drew a deep, painful breath. That made three nights
in a row. It was starting again. He knew he wasn't going to get any more
sleep, so he got up and started to check over the next day's schedule, using
the familiar routine like a mantra.
###
Picard looked around the conference table at his officers' faces. Worf was
stoic, as usual; Data mildly curious, Will Riker and Geordi LaForge were
doing their best to appear attentive, Beverly Crusher looked downright
rebellious. He wasn't exactly thrilled himself. Five days of diplomatic
'presence'... god help him, he wasn't sure he could be pleasant for that many
days in a row, especially not planetbound, and without his ship's counselor.
Missions like this were on the dull side at best. He knew none of them would
be happy about his next words, either.
"Since our presence has been requested at both the opening and closing
ceremonies of Guide Kelssohn's Reaffirmation, we will remain here in orbit
around Halvam for a week. For those of you on the away-team, dress
uniforms will be required." He sat back, and waited for the reaction. It
wasn't long in coming. Riker groaned.
"Not that, anything but that!"
Picard suppressed a grin, though his amusement was apparent in his eyes.
He disliked Starfleet's formal dress uniforms as much as the next man, but
under the circumstances it was unavoidable: Diplomatic functions required
dress uniforms. Thus, they were stuck with the current model--a bizarre
fusion of archaic Earth formalwear and Starfleet's current uniforms--until
someone at Fleet Headquarters got tired of the complaints and came up with
something new.
He waited just long enough for them to become really uncomfortable with the
idea, then dropped the other shoe.
"Dress uniform will be required at the ceremonies only. In the interim, duty
uniforms are acceptable."
An audible sigh of relief went up. Riker eyed him askance, no doubt
suspecting he had intentionally drawn out the suffering. He had, of course.
His sense of humor did get the best of him at times. He leaned forward,
steepling his fingers.
"While I realize that the next few days will be uncharacteristically routine, I
hope that you can all remember that we are invited guests of the Halvami
government, and behave accordingly."
Beverly Crusher lifted an eyebrow. "As I recall, they requested the Yggdrasil,
not the Enterprise. That hardly makes us invited."
"They requested a Starfleet presence." He corrected her, slightly annoyed.
"As Captain Ng of the Yggdrasil is Halvami, their original preference is
understandable. However, since the Yggdrasil was damaged in an ion-storm
and is out for repairs, we were awarded the... honor instead."
"Mmm." She said, noncomittally. "Still, it does make one feel a little like
chopped liver."
Data turned his head toward the doctor, head slightly tilted.
"Chopped liver, doctor?"
"A figure of speech, Data." Picard sighed. "Reference it later."
"Yes, sir."
"What sort of place is Halvam?" Riker asked.
"Mr. Data, if you please?"
Data nodded cordially. "Halvam is a class M planet, extremely temperate due
to its optimal axial tilt. The solar day is twenty five-point-four hours, and
the year is three-hundred-fifty-eight solar days. Landmass to watermass ratio
approximately sixty-eight-point-eight-five, and the..."
Riker held up a hand, stopping Data's recitation. "I meant the culture, Data,
not the planet itself."
Data stared at him for a moment before speaking. "Commander, it would be
helpful if you were to express your requests more precisely. Halvam is a
class-A human colony, non-ethnocentric. Its population is relatively stable at
three billion individuals. It was established during Earth's early colonization
phase one hundred and twenty-six years ago. Halvam's chief exports are rare
metals, gems, medical stasis field systems, and works of art. The state of the
economy is very good, recreational time is high, and the cultural atmosphere
is highly cosmopolitan. Halvam is known throughout the Federation for the
lavishness of its hospitality. Is there anything else you wish to know?"
Riker shook his head, smiling. "No, I think that about covers it.
"Anyone else have questions?" Picard asked, looking around.
Geordi straightened a little in his chair. "What exactly is Guide Kelssohn's
position, and what's a Reaffirmation?"
Data turned toward Geordi. "On most human-colony worlds the Halvami
'Guide' would be termed a 'president'. It is an elected position, those elected
serve twenty-year terms, and their duties encompass all aspects of
governance. A Reaffirmation is the ceremony given when an incumbent
Guide is reelected. This is Guide Kelssohn's second Reaffirmation."
Geordi whistled. "So, this Kelssohn's been Guide for forty years, and he's
starting his third term in office?"
Data nodded. "Correct. Election of an individual to a third term has never
before occurred, which is why they requested a Federation presence at the
ceremonies. The organizers apparently wished to make them more elaborate
than usual."
Picard waited a moment to see if anyone else would speak. When no one did,
he stood. "I believe that is all; you are dismissed. Assemble in transporter
room three in one hour."
His officers began to file out, all but the doctor who remained in her chair,
sitting stiffly, with her arms crossed on her chest. Picard recognized the
stubborn set of her chin and mentally prepared himself for a fight. When the
room was empty save for the two of them, he resumed his seat.
"Yes, Doctor Crusher?" He kept his tone even and formal.
"I still don't see why I have to go down," she said, jumping in with both feet.
He gave her his patented 'long-suffering' expression. "Doctor, you know very
well that second to myself, you are the most senior officer aboard. The
Halvami could take it as an insult if you were to absent yourself from the
ceremonies."
"It's not as if they'd declare war on us over it, Jean-Luc," she retorted drily.
"I know that as well as you do, but sometimes duty comes before personal
considerations. I realize you are in the midst of a research project, but this
does take precedence." He paused a moment, then offered his compromise.
"It would be acceptable for you to attend the opening and closing ceremonies
only, and return to the ship between events to continue your work."
The tightness disappeared from her jaw and her smile lit the room. He was
startled for a moment by how beautiful she really was. Generally he
managed to overlook it, a virtual necessity for their working relationship.
"Jean-Luc, you are a sweetheart," she declared vehemently.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Kindly refrain from mentioning that within earshot of
the crew, Doctor."
"Certainly," she winked, and gracefully unwound herself from her chair.
"Thank you, captain, I owe you one."
"I'll remember that," he replied smoothly. There were times that having her
owe him a favor could come in handy. She shot him a narrow-eyed look,
then smiled wryly.
"I'll bet you will."
###
The away-team materialized into a huge, lavishly decorated room, obviously
meant for formal receptions. At the moment it was empty, save for a
distinguished-looking man in flowing cobalt-blue robes. He was an inch or
so taller than Riker, with thick black hair liberally salted with white, and a
closely trimmed beard. His pale blue eyes flickered quickly over the away
team. He looked puzzled for a moment as he studied Data, and his nostrils
flared slightly as his eyes passed Worf, but when he saw Beverly Crusher he
reacted very strangely. Most men looked at her with admiration. This man
looked both surprised and appalled. After a moment he recovered and
smiled, a thin, chill smile devoid of meaning.
"Welcome to Halvam, gentlemen, lady. I am Ser Coran Delvekia, Minister of
Internal Affairs. I have been assigned to see to your needs during your stay.
Follow me, I will show you to your quarters."
Picard disliked him on sight. But then, the feeling appeared to be mutual, if
Delvekia's outward demeanor was any indication. He mustered a civil smile
he hoped was more convincing than his host's.
"Thank you, Ser Delvekia. I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation
Starship Enterprise. This is my first officer, Commander William Riker; my
Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Beverly Crusher; Lieutenant Commander Data;
Lieutenant Geordi Laforge, Chief of Engineering; and Lieutenant Worf, Chief
of Security."
Delvekia acknowledged the introductions with a slight inclination of his
head, then he frowned. "I was not expecting a woman. I shall have to change
the room assignments. All the serving staff is male."
Beverly tried to smooth over the situation. With a smile which could
normally charm even a Klingon, she spoke. "I'm sure I can manage by myself,
Ser Delvekia. You needn't go to any trouble."
Delvekia looked at her coldly. "You do not understand our ways. The
servants attend the rooms... always. It would not be seemly for you to have a
male servant. I will change the assignment."
"I..." Beverly started to speak, then caught the almost imperceptible shake of
Picard's head and paused, revised, then continued. "...thank you. That
would be very nice."
"Wait here. I will return shortly." Delvekia turned and strode away, his long
robes rippling in the slight breeze he created as he walked. The away-team
was left standing alone in the center of the hall.
Riker looked at Picard, eyebrows lifted in exaggerated curiosity. Picard
shook his head and shrugged.
"Friendly sort, isn't he?" Geordi commented softly, his sarcasm not totally
disguised by the natural warmth of his voice. "Seems to have something
against doctors."
"Or women," Beverly Crusher said, frowning. "He seemed almost offended
by me. Data, is this a strongly male-dominated culture?"
Data shook his head. "Not according to the records, Doctor. In fact, its
first, third and fourth Guides were women, which would seem to indicate a
fairly egalitarian society."
"Mmm. Odd. Well, maybe I remind him of his ex-wife," she said, shrugging.
"I wonder what he meant by that 'The servants attend the rooms... always'
business?"
"I would venture to guess it means the rooms are never unattended, even
when its occupants are sleeping." Data said.
"That could explain the 'it isn't seemly' comment," Picard said, nodding.
"Data, do you have anything applicable on Halvami mores and customs?"
Data paused for a moment, looking at nothing, then shook his head again.
"No sir, nothing applicable. Previous sociological studies indicate little
difference between Halvami and current pan-European Earth customs;
however the last study was done nearly twenty-five years ago, and that is
more than enough time for a dynamic culture to evolve a new set of customs."
Picard frowned. "Twenty-five years ago? Why so long? Is no one from
Colonial Affairs keeping up with them?"
"Apparently it was not felt necessary, since the world is a class-A colony."
"And just how do they expect us to be certain we are not offending colonial
cultures when they give us no current information to work from?" Picard
demanded irritably. He turned to Riker. "Arrange to have someone from
Sociology report down as an observer. Without Counselor Troi, it may be the
only way to stay out of trouble."
Riker nodded. "I'll get someone down right away, but don't you think it
might upset Ser Delvekia if we add someone at this hour?"
Picard sighed. "Good point. Doctor Crusher will be returning to the ship
after the opening ceremonies to continue working on her research project. If
we bring down our additional person then, it should cause no upset. In the
meantime, we'll have to manage. Oh, and make sure whoever you bring
down is female... we wouldn't want Ser Delvekia to have to rearrange the
rooms again."
"No, we certainly wouldn't, would we?" Riker said, grinning, then quickly
adopted a more serious expression as Coran Delvekia returned, his
equanimity apparently restored. His smile was slightly more convincing this
time.
"If you will follow me, I will show you the state apartments and halls while
the room arrangements are being completed. The opening ceremony will
begin three hours from now, so you will have time to rest after you acquaint
yourselves with the building."
Manifesting polite interest, the group trailed after him as he began to
describe the meanings of the various symbols displayed on tapestries around
the great hall. At the rear of the party, Geordi mimed a yawn at Worf. Worf
scowled at him, and Geordi grinned and shrugged. Through his VISOR, Geordi saw
a slight change in skin temperature around the Klingon's mouth and knew
from long experience that Worf was suppressing a smile. Riker caught the
exchange and shook his head. Geordi sighed resignedly and looked with
intense interest at the walls.
###
Their tour finally over, Delvekia had escorted them to their rooms. As Picard
had suspected, each room had its own attendant, whose only apparent
function was to attend the occupant of the room they cared for. All the
attendants were young men... boys really, younger than Wesley, save for
Beverly's whose was a girl of about twelve. As his room was the last they had
come to, Picard had the opportunity to notice a disquieting fact. And now as
he sat in the ornate chamber the Halvami had supplied him, he could not
shake the feeling that something was wrong.
He looked around the room, at the woven hangings of bright silks and metallics,
the soft couches and ostentatious decoration so unlike his spare, functional
quarters aboard the Enterprise. The rest of his away-team had been assigned
equally elaborate rooms. That in itself was not so odd, considering the
planet's reputation. His gaze traveled to where his attendant sat, quietly
attentive. That was the source of his unease. It troubled him that not only
were the room attendants mere children, they were all disturbingly alike...
small, almost delicate, olive skinned and red haired. Without regard for
gender, they were dressed alike, wore their hair alike, they even moved alike.
The sameness was somehow unnerving. Though each was demonstrably individual,
there was that disconcerting similarity about them.
He sat back in his chair, scowling absently. During the course of their tour,
he had seen two dozen or more of the 'servants.' Never engaged in any
recreational task, only working. In point of fact, all the laborers he had seen
during the tour had been of the same type. The very uniformity of the
phenotype in the servant caste, and its absence elsewhere, suggested
deliberate discrimination. He strongly suspected that it also explained Ser
Delvekia's peculiar reaction to Beverly Crusher, whose auburn hair, slight
build and deceptively fragile features put her squarely within their category.
He wondered if any of his crewmates had noticed what he had.
The other thing which troubled him was that none of the servants appeared
to be past their mid-teens, though most were much younger. Even if one
'served' only as a young adult, they had to have elders somewhere... but he
had not seen a single mature individual who belonged to the phenotype.
Granted, their tour had been confined to the complex of buildings which
made up the administrative center, but one would think, given the number of
servants he had seen, that he would have encountered at least one individual
older than twenty.
As a Federation 'A-status' human colony Halvam had to have, over the hundred
or so years of its existence, met at least minimum Federation guidelines in
order to retain its status. It was widely held to be a model of colonial
success, noted for its organization and prosperity. Yet he was suspicious, in
fact virtually certain, that they were in violation of one of the Federation's
most fundamental tenets; that which held that no sentient being could be
enslaved.
He found himself wishing yet again that Deanna Troi was not off at her
damned symposium. Her empathic insight would be invaluable in
determining whether or not his suspicions were valid. With a sigh, he
admitted to himself that he was more dependent on her than he liked... in
fact, he had become more dependent on all his top officers than he was
strictly comfortable with. He had never had a crew with whom he meshed so
well, whose abilities were so uniquely complimentary.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. Most captains never acquired a crew
like his. Over the past three years there had been intense efforts on the
part of some other captains to lure away some of his best officers. It was a
point of pride that none of those efforts had succeeded. Even Beverly Crusher
had opted to return, giving up the directorship of Starfleet Medical to retake
her place as Enterprise's C.M.O. Because he knew he wasn't the easiest Captain
in the fleet to work with, their loyalty was doubly appreciated. On that
thought, he turned to the youngster who waited silently.
"Excuse me...," he said.
The boy jumped to his feet, brows raised in question.
"What is your name?"
His query garnered a puzzled frown, then the boy touched his lips and shook
his head.
Picard frowned back at him, not understanding. "What?"
Again, the boy touched his lips, then shook his head, then he pointed at
Picard and touched his ear, smiling.
Picard thought for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. "You are not allowed
to speak to me?"
The boy smiled and nodded.
"But I may speak to you?"
Again, a nod. Picard thought it very odd. Why were they not allowed to
speak? Perhaps it was simply for the convenience of the guests in the room,
knowing the propensity of children to chatter.
"If I give you permission to speak, may you?"
His question was answered by a vehemently shake of head.
"I see. Well then, I suppose I must be content with 'hey you', an inelegant
solution, but the only one available. I am going to ask my first officer to
join me here shortly. When he comes, I would appreciate privacy."
The boy frowned, shaking his head.
Picard's brows lifted, a look his crewmembers knew and dreaded. "No?" he
asked softly.
The boy shook his head again, touching his chest, then gesturing around the
room before going to the door and placing both hands flat against its surface.
Once more he shook his head.
"You are not allowed to leave the room?" Picard queried incredulously. At
the other's nod, he wondered briefly how he had understood the boy's signs,
as they were in neither of the nonverbal languages Picard had studied.
Perhaps it was their simplicity which rendered them decipherable. His scowl
returned, darker than before.
"How do I contact Ser Delvekia?"
The boy stiffened, his eyes going wide. Fear, unmistakably. What was he
afraid of? After a moment, he seemed to regain his control and he gestured at
a small metal box on the desk. Picard realized it was an old mechanical-
button comunit. He reached toward it, and the boy was there suddenly, as
light and quiet as a moth, touching his hand briefly, shaking his head.
"You don't want me to contact him?" Picard asked softly.
The boy shook his head vehemently.
"Are you afraid?"
A nod.
"You need not be. I mean only to release you from those ridiculous rules. I
suppose if it is customary, I must have a servant while I stay, but fail to see
why you should remain bound to the room or to silence."
Miserably the child shook his head again. Picard sighed, rubbed the bridge of
his nose and looked around the room. He hated dealing with children,
though of necessity he had gotten better at it of late. An idea occurred to him.
"Are you allowed to go out on the terrace?"
The boy nodded.
"Good. I will require you to go out there, with the doors closed, while
Commander Riker and I speak. Is that acceptable?"
Looking pleased, the boy nodded and went to stand by the high glass doors
which opened onto a small walled terrace. Picard tapped his combadge.
"Commander Riker, report."
"Here, sir."
"Join me in my quarters. I have something I would like to discuss with you."
"Certainly, sir... where are you?"
"Four doors past you, on the left."
"Riker out."
Moments later a tap at the door signaled Riker's arrival. Before Picard could
rise, the boy had crossed to the door and opened it. It was uncanny how
quietly and quickly he moved, like a ghost. Riker looked down and seemed a
little startled, then looked at Picard.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes, Number One, a moment." He looked at his attendant, then nodded
toward the door. The boy quietly removed himself from the room, closing
the outer doors behind him. Picard waited for Riker to take a seat in one of
the excessively cushioned chairs before speaking. Riker looked out at the
attendant who stood looking out at the teal of the sky, his back to the room,
then his gaze came back to Picard, questioningly.
"As I wished to speak about the attendants, I thought it prudent to ask mine
to leave. Tell me, have you attempted to speak with yours?"
Riker made a face. "I have, and he won't"
Picard nodded. "The one here is the same, and I have also ascertained that he
is forbidden to leave the room."
He was silent a moment, phrasing his next question. Riker must have sensed
he was not through, for he waited patiently.
"Have you noticed anything unusual about the division of labor on Halvam?
Physical labor especially?"
Riker nodded, frowning. "I have. All the laborers I've seen seem to have the
same general physical characteristics. Considering the substantial ethnic
diversity on Halvam, it seemed a little odd."
"Precisely my thoughts, Number One. Tell me, does it also strike you as
peculiar that they aren't allowed to speak with us?"
"Yes, it does. What exactly is it you suspect?"
"Discrimination at the least, possibly worse. I would like you to ask the
others if any of their attendants will speak. We must try to ascertain whether
or not their service is voluntary."
Riker nodded. "I'll get right on it." He stepped toward the door, then turned
back, frowning. "How could they have managed to slip something this
blatant past the CA review personnel?"
Picard lifted one eyebrow ironically. "Really, Number One, are you really so
idealistic. There must be a thousand ways to slide such things past during a
review, not the least of which is bribery. There is also the small matter of
the time lapse since their last review. I begin to suspect why they
specifically requested the Yggdrasil. As Halvam is Captain Ng's homeworld, he
might be more likely to overlook directive violations than an unfamiliar ship
and crew would."
"If your theory is correct, then they why haven't they hidden it? It doesn't
make sense for them to leave things status quo, knowing we would be here."
"That is the weakest point of my conjecture." Picard admitted, leaning back in
his chair and steepling his fingers. "Perhaps they felt it would be less
noticeable to leave things as they are than to try and hide them. In a
situation involving a large number of people, deception might prove impossible
to manage. Then again, perhaps they simply thought we would not notice," he
said with a slight grimace. "Judging from Ser Delvekia's attitude, they could
well think us lacking in the necessary intelligence."
Riker chuckled. "He doesn't seem to hold Starfleet in particularly high
regard, does he?"
"Apparently not. Let me know what you come up with."
Riker nodded and let the room. Picard looked out the doors, a slight frown
creasing his forehead. He had just decided to call the boy back inside, when
someone tapped at the door. Wondering what Riker had forgotten, he
turned.
"Come."
The door opened, and an elderly woman of Asian descent stepped somewhat
tentatively into the room. She looked around, almost as if expecting to find
someone else in the room. Picard quickly rose to greet her.
"Please, forgive my rudeness. I thought you were my first officer."
"An understandable mistake, as I saw him leave a moment ago. I am not
offended."
"Thank you. What can I do for you?" he asked, studying her. Her lined,
pinched face spoke of years of unhappiness. Though she was dressed in airy
layered robes in shades of gold and peach, for all their lightness they sat on
her like inch-thick armor.
She looked around again, in the same, strangely furtive manner, then shook
her head.
"You cannot do anything for me...," she sighed, her voice a whisper. "...but
possibly for the little ones. I am Seret Ng."
"You are Captain Andre Ng's mother?" he guessed.
"I am. But that has nothing to do with why I am here." She sighed and
turned away, then saw the slight figure on the terrace and stiffened visibly, a
shudder sending the elaborate beadwork on her robes into shimmering
display.
"Are you ill?" Picard asked, concerned. "Please, sit down."
She straightened, and turned back to him, her face mask-like. "Yes. I am ill,
but only with myself. I have done an evil thing, and I mean to undo as much
of it as I can. That is why I have come. I have not the time to tell you now,
but please, after the ceremony this evening, will you meet me out on the
public square, where I may speak freely?"
Picard's steady gaze narrowed. She met it for a moment, then looked away,
her expression one of... guilt? He pressed a little. "Forgive me, but I do not
understand. What is it you wish to discuss?"
"An old wrong, Captain Picard. One I helped create, and one I must help end.
But I must go, others are waiting for me. Meet me there..." she pointed to
the wide, white-paved plaza a short walk from his rooms. "...near the fountain
at the east corner. We will speak more then."
"Very well, madam, I will do as you ask."
She smiled, her smile transforming her pinched, closed-off face into
something he suspected approximated her former beauty.
"Thank you, Captain. You are not a priest of old to give me absolution, but
perhaps my penitence will count for something in the next life. Goodbye,"
On that odd note, she turned and left the room in a swirl of silks. He stared
after her, frowning, then shook his head.
"Curiouser and curiouser," he mused to himself. "I wonder when the white
rabbit appears?"
###
>From a doorway down the hall, a man in a Halvami security forces uniform
watched Seret Ng leave the Captain's room. After she passed out of sight, he
stepped out and hurried away, scowling.
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 2
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:42:32 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER TWO
Jaron Kellsohn's Reaffirmation was typical of its ilk. At least four hundred
overdressed spectators sitting posterior-to-posterior in the hall which, when
empty, had seemed immense. Packed with people, its dimensions seemed
oddly reduced. Fortunately, Picard and his officers had been given space on
the dais, where there was at least room to breathe without becoming
unpleasantly intimate with one's neighbor's personal hygiene. Various
planetary officials droned on bombastically, while the away-team struggled
to look attentive and pleasant.
Personally, Riker would rather have been locked in a room with 'Q'. He
strongly suspected that at least some of the others would as well. He glanced
at Picard, who, though his expression was thoughtful and interested, was
definitely not completely present. Riker wondered what he was thinking
about. Their last shoreleave on Oceania? No, probably not. Knowing Picard,
he was worrying at some great philosophical problem. The man definitely
thought too much. But then, better a commander who thought too much than
one who thought too little. He settled back slightly in his chair and sighed.
###
All evening long, Beverly Crusher had garnered nothing but peculiar looks
from most of the Halvami she met. She had begun to wonder if she had a
strategically placed hole in her uniform, or perhaps dirt on her face. Between
that, and the fact that she hadn't wanted to be there in the first place, she
was not having a good time. She risked a sidelong glance at her companions,
and caught Will Riker doing the same thing. She winked, almost imperceptibly,
and he nodded, rolling his eyes: conspirators in boredom. Worf sat at strict
attention, but his eyes held a glazed-over look. Geordi had a distinct
advantage over the rest of them, he could be asleep behind his Visor and no
one would ever be the wiser unless he fell out of his chair. Data had the air
of someone watching a particularly interesting insect.
She turned her head just enough to see the Captain on her left. Picard, damn
him, managed somehow to look comfortable and even interested as his gaze
ranged out over the gathered spectators, but she sensed something was
distracting him from the events. The everpresent crease between his
eyebrows seemed deeper than usual. She looked out to see what it was that
had disturbed him, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Idly, she began to do
muscle isolations to relieve the aches caused by sitting still for two hours in
chairs which had no doubt had been designed by Torquemada. And they still
had the reception to go. She wondered what this planet's version of Swedish
meatballs was like.
###
Picard sensed his officers' restlessness, and sympathized. If he hadn't been
preoccupied by thoughts of Seret Ng's strange visit he would have felt
precisely the same way. Fortunately, that gave him something to think about
while lending his 'presence' to the affair. He had noticed that there were
none of the 'servant' phenotype amongst the audience in the room, nor, in fact
were there any to be seen at all. There were, however, Halvami Security
Force guards at each entrance to the hall, in full uniform, and armed. A fact
that made Picard slightly uncomfortable. It seemed the Halvami government
thought they had something to fear... a fact at odds with the glowing reports
of a completely satisfied populace which they had been given. It was
definitely not his imagination that something was very wrong on this world.
He scanned the audience, but saw no sign of dissatifaction there, save for the
understandable discontent of complete boredom.
A flash of peach and gold caught his eye, and he focused on Seret Ng. Her
unwavering gaze was fixed on Coran Delvekia, and the loathing in her
expression was almost tangible. He glanced at the minister, but he seemed
oblivious to her gaze. Interesting. So he wasn't the only one to dislike
minister Delvekia. He grew more curious about what Seret Ng had to say to
him. Would it have anything to do with his suspicions, or was it something
completely unrelated? He made a mental note to ask Data for any
information he had on Seret Ng or Coran Delvekia. It was never wise to go
unprepared.
###
The opening observances finally over, they adjourned to the reception. Picard
cornered Data and managed to find out at least a few facts about Seret Ng.
What he learned told him little, save that she and Coran Delvekia had once
been partners in a business. He saw her in the crowd, and nodded pleasently.
Though she was looking directly at him, she seemed not to see, or at least, she
did not acknowledge him. He wondered if it was deliberate, or if she had
really not seen him. He was about to go in search of Beverly Crusher when
Delvekia appeared, smiling his official smile. He sighed.
"Minister Delvekia, what can I do for you?"
"Guide Kelssohn has asked to meet you. He has heard about your many
adventures, and would like to meet the person behind the myth."
Picard winced internally. He hated that sort of nonsense, but there was no
way he could diplomatically refuse. With what he hoped was an acceptable
expression, he nodded.
"I would be honored to make his acquaintance."
"I will escort you. He also wished to meet the android."
Picard gritted his teeth and asked Data to accompany them. He loathed it
when people spoke around Data, as if he were not capable of responding
himself. Data acquiesced, and they followed Delvekia toward the more
crowded portion of the room. Picard felt rather like a carnival attraction.
He noted with interest that the crowd parted for Delvekia with silent, sidelong
glances which spoke volumes. He was not a popular man, but he was a powerful
one. Conversations ceased, or changed as soon as he got within hearing
distance. It took little effort to reach Kelssohn where he sat, like a king
holding court, in a large chair on a slightly raised dais, surrounded by men
and women in the most sumptuous garb imaginable.
Kelssohn himself was more subdued, his robes a deep, midnight blue, without
decoration or jewelry. Though he had to be in his seventies, he appeared quite
youthful. He was a large man, broad-chested, large armed, heavy in a way that
implied strength, not simple overweight. When he stood to greet them, Picard
saw that he was close to the same height as his chief minister. The darkness
of his robes seemed a calculated foil for his thick silver hair and high color.
His eyes were grey, close-set and shrewd. His grip, as he shook Picard's hand,
was firm, almost too firm, as if he were testing an adversary, rather than
greeting an envoy. That in itself was an interesting fact. Picard voiced a
standard greeting, paying little attention to what he said, concentrating more
on getting an overall impression of the man.
Kelssohn pumped his hand, and spoke in a loud, amiable fashion. He was
playing for audience effect, one eye on the crowd. Picard pegged him as a
former actor, but then, most politicians had some of that in them. He
watched Kelssohn go through the same motions with Data, and saw little of
the condescension he had expected. That came as a surprise. He had
expected Kelssohn to treat Data as most people did; as an object rather than a
person. He gave him points for that. When the man turned his attention back
to Picard, his expression was serious.
"So, it was pretty bad, that Borg busines? We heard about it here. Terrible.
Only good thing is that it's been good for our economy. With so many ships
lost, and new ones in the yards, we're getting a lot of requisitions for
state-of-the-art medical equipment to put on them."
"I'm sure your equipment will be most welcome, Guide Kelssohn. The
Enterprise uses a great deal of Halvami equipment in her sickbay. I'm sure
Doctor Crusher would be pleased to speak with you about it."
Kelssohn snorted derisively. "Ha! As if I'd want to talk medical technology
with a lovely woman like that! And Captain, please, call me Jaron, none of
that 'Guide' nonsense. We're all grown men here."
Picard disliked the forced familiarity, but nodded. He did not volunteer his
own first-name for use. If Kelssohn noticed that, it did not seem to perturb
him.
"So, how do you like Halvam, Captain Picard?"
"Our stay has been very pleasent, so far. It is a beautiful world, and our
quarters are more than adequate. I am curious about one thing, though. The
young people who serve in our rooms, why is it they are not allowed to
speak?"
Kelssohn's eyes shuttered instantly, and some of his air of joviality faded.
"Young people... oh. You mean the Government House roomservants?"
Picard nodded. Kelssohn shrugged, exaggeratedly.
"It's some religious vow they've taken, I believe. I don't know much about it.
Perhaps Coran could help you there."
"I see. I was also curious as to why they all look so much alike. All small,
slightly built redheads with olive skin. Are they clones?"
Kelssohn's stiffening was unmistakable this time. "Clones?" He laughed, the
sound forced and unnatural. "Of course not! That would be an abuse of
technology. They're all related, though, cousins or something, I think," his
eyes darted toward his chief minister, a few yards away, then returned to
sweep past Picard's face without meeting his eyes. "Again, Coran would
know more. He's in charge of the work programs."
"Thank you, I'll speak to him about it then."
Picard let the subject drop. He had gotten a strong enough reaction to know
he wasn't mistaken. Something was wrong.
###
The reception lasted late into the night. After it finally ended, they returned
to their quarters in the Government House. Picard said cordial goodnights to
his officers before entering his room to exchange his dress uniform for a
standard one before leaving for his rendezvous with Seret Ng. As he
changed, he briefly considered informing Will Riker of his plans, but
discarded the idea out of hand. Without doubt, Riker would insist that he not
go, and Picard was determined to ferret out as much information as he could
before filing an official request for status review with Starfleet. Seret Ng's
knowledge could prove valuable, and she had requested him, not him, Riker,
Worf and whatever security personnel Worf chose. He would go alone. After
all, they were to meet in a very public place, so what harm could come from
it? He had a moment's misgiving at that thought. It was usually one which
presaged disaster. Shaking off that unpleasant idea, he nodded to the
youngster half-asleep on a chair by the door, and left the room through the
terrace doors.
###
The square was brilliantly lit, and oddly deserted. He had expected that after
the festivities a crowd would gather there, but only a dozen or so gaudily
robed men and women wandered the broad parquetry. He drew a few
glances, his uniform no doubt accounting for the interest in him. Reaching
the fountain, he stood watching the play of water and reflected light within
the abstractly carved basin, waiting for his... contact.
He smiled to himself, the term conjured images of resistance workers, midnight
rendezvous, and uniformed evil-doers from archaic war novels he had read. He
had to admit, he felt the same slight edge of excitement he gained from his
Dixon Hill scenarios on the holodeck. No doubt Deanna Troi would have a field
day with that. Musing on the origin of the expression 'field day', he idly
circled the fountain, noting how the water slid in a smooth sheet down one side
of it, and jumped from tier to tier with spray-shattering steps on another, and
on the third spiraled in a sucession of small whirlpools. It was a lovely
piece of work.
"Captain Picard."
Seret Ng's voice brought him abruptly from his contemplation and he turned.
Gone were the bright robes. She was still in flowing silks, but these were
gray, cheerless. The color suited her aura of unhappiness. "Sera Ng," he
said, acknowledging her presence with the Halvami feminine honorific.
"Thank you for coming. Will you walk with me? I prefer to move while we
speak."
"Are you afraid someone will overhear?"
She smiled slightly, a humourless baring of teeth. "Yes, I am. I admit it.
If Coran discovers we have spoken, I will not be long for this life. I may be
an old and bitter woman, but I do not wish to die yet."
"Coran... Delvekia?"
"The same."
"He was once your partner in a business, a medical research facility, yes?"
Her thin brows lifted. "You have done your homework, Captain. Yes. We
were, and that was the beginning of my evil. Come. Walk."
Her command was just short of imperious. He fell into step beside her as she
moved off down a path which led away from the paved square into a grassy,
tree-lined park.
"Tell me, Captain Picard, did your investigation reveal what sort of research
we did?"
"I know you hold degrees in biochemistry, genetics and immunology. Coran
Delvekia also hold degrees in biochemistry and immunology. I would
venture to guess you were working on vaccines."
"Correct, in part. We dabbled in designer genetics as well, changing skin,
hair and eye color, that sort of nonsense. It was a popular fad for a time,
and I was quite good at it. However that is beside the point. We were the
best there was, then. Young, eager, greedy. Then the shock came..." she
stopped suddenly and looked around, frowning.
"What is it?
"Did you hear..." she began, and while she spoke a familiar but completely
unexpected tingling sensation suffused him. Transporter effect. Before he
had time to react, he rematerialized into total darkness.
###
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, a quick look around told Picard that he and
Seret Ng had not been transported to the same location, however it did show
him four figures coming toward him, each carrying an object whose blunt
silhouette was all-too-familiar. Phasers. The nearest one lifted the object
threateningly. Dropping to his knees, he rolled past the man, under his
guard, then spun around and got in a solid blow to the back of his opponent's
head that dropped him like a rock.
A second man lifted his weapon and Picard feinted right, side-stepped to the
left, and quickly discovered that was a mistake. The move did take him out
of range of the descending blow, but unfortunately the ground to his left was
almost non-existent. He felt the edge begin to crumble. He reached for the
man who a moment earlier he had been trying to avoid, but missed. As the
ground disappeared from beneath his feet, his assailant caught him for a
moment by the front of his uniform, but it quickly slipped from his grasp.
The drop was a good three meters, and, unable to roll into his fall, he came
down with most of his weight on his right foot. Something in his ankle gave
way in a flare of white-hot pain. With a gasp, he went down on one knee and
reached for his combadge. His fingers encountered only smooth, unbroken
fabric. No communicator. Trying to ignore the searing pain, he groped
around on the ground, looking for it. Then a memory flashed... his erstwhile
foe catching him by his jacket for a moment. No doubt his communicator
now lay somewhere on the ground above, dislodged by his attacker.
###
Not far below, she straightened from her comfortable slouch with a start. There
it was again! Only stronger, far stronger. Her senses were awake on all levels.
She stood, uncertain, trying to fathom exactly what it was she was supposed to
do. Taking several deep, calming breaths, she reached out, searching for
whatever had triggered the compulsion. This time, unlike before, she found it
easily. There were Tall Ones above; very close. A lot of them. She isolated
the different minds... four, no, five. Four filled with dark, harmful intent,
all too familiar to her. The other... this one was different. Bright, clear,
sharp... and afraid. That fear created an immediate resonance in her. She knew
fear, especially fear associated with those other minds. But odd... the other
was not one of hers. In fact, for all its difference, it seemed to be another
Tall One. They made war on one of their own, this time.
She stood and began to pace, needing to move, and trying to sort out her
feelings. Why should she help one of them? Why was her talent insisting?
And how could she help? She had no power to intervene physically, or even
mentally; at least not when they were so focused on their mayhem. Had it
been only one, she might have been able to help, but not four, that was too
many.
Because she had not been paying attention for a moment the pain, when it
came, nearly overwhelmed her; it was almost her own. With a gasp she
closed off that level of awareness and had to spend a moment reassuring
herself that she was not, in reality, injured. Then as she turned her
concentration back to what was happening above, she realized that the
situation had changed; she had a chance now. The compulsion to help
strengthened almost unbearably and she succumbed to it. Quickly she
extinguished her light and scrambled into the passageway which led to the
surface, moving with the ease of long familiarity.
###
Picard muttered a soft curse as he shifted to a slightly less painful position
and looked up, trying to ascertain what was happening. There was a very
good chance they would come looking for him, so he gritted his teeth, and
pushed himself under the slight overhang, edging his way along it, away
from the spot where he had fallen. Hopefully they would assume he had
transported out, and not look far.
Every movement sent shards of agony spearing up from his ankle, which was
either broken, or badly dislocated. Despite the pain and the circumstances, he
almost chuckled at the thought of what Will Riker's face would look like
when he realized he was short one person... the one person he had sworn to
keep out of trouble. It would almost be worth the pain to be able to see that
expression. Almost.
Something wet and cold splattered against his face, then another, and another.
It was raining. He sighed. It figured. Off to his left, a fall of earth and
stones rattled down, and a light flashed across the area, just missing him.
He swore, and as quickly as he could, moved a few feet further away, fighting
the need to express his pain in sound. Leaning back, he discovered an
opening behind him.
Gratefully he slid into it, and then barely managed to stifle a yelp of
surprise as a hand took his. Immediately a finger was placed against his lips
for a moment, and the hand on his tugged, urging him farther into the shelter
which seemed to lengthen, and widen immediately. He felt whoever it was
move past him, heard the sound of stone moving on stone, and what little
light there had been disappeared. A moment later, the hand returned to pull
at his sleeve and he followed until he couldn't move any more, the pain rising
in a dark tide that threatened consciousness. He stopped with a gasp.
Immediately he felt cool palms against the sides of his face. Oddly, a tingling
sensation seemed to spread from where they touched him, and a peculiarly
sensual feeling of well-being, almost pleasure, flowed down to mask the pain.
After a moment, the hands left his face and one of them found his hand to
urge him on. Experimentally, he moved, found it was again possible, and
followed his benefactor deeper into the tunnel. Unfortunately the masking
effect didn't last long enough. By the time they reached the end of the tunnel,
he was moving on sheer will, concentrating so hard on not stopping that it
took the other's hands against his chest to make him halt. Gratefully, he did,
wishing it was as easy to stop the pain.
He heard movement, a scraping sound, then light flared. He winced from the
sudden brightness, then made out a figure, bending to light more candles to
suffuse the small chamber with a warm glow. Finally, she turned to face him.
Her gender was obvious from her silhouette. His first impression was of
preternatural being... a dryad. Shades of brown, gold, and red mingled, hints
of green. He mentally shook himself, not generally being given to flights of
fancy, and sought more prosaic adjectives.
She was small, not over a meter and a half, and slender to the point of
thinness. The impression of earthiness was enhanced by her coloring; tawny
skin, coppery hair, a brief sarong-like skirt and vest of bark brown; a good-
sized knife at her hip gave him a moment's pause, before his eyes returned to
her face. Even trying for prosaic, she was best described in terms of Raphael,
Botticelli, or perhaps Hagalt of Risan 5; her eyes actually defied description.
Hazel was totally inadequate, though that was the word generally used for
the combination of brown, green, blue and amber. More than their color, it
was their expression which arrested... haunted, hunted, afraid, guarded,
defiant... somehow they conveyed all of that. Eyes that made one wonder
what kind of hell a person's life had been. For a moment they made him
forget his own pain; it was only physical.
She looked away, breaking the spell, and his pain returned full-force. He
drew in a ragged breath and swore, which seemed somehow to help. She was
beside him instantly, helping him down into the small chamber. As she eased
him over to the nest of mismatched cushions against one wall, it dawned on
him that this was more than the temporary refuge he had assumed it to be, it
was her home.
He noted the piecemeal furnishings, the attempts at decoration expressed by
shapes woven of dried grasses and flowers, primitive patterns and figures
painted on the walls, an intricate but worn quilt which held the only vibrant
color in the room, aside from her hair. The room had the air of having been
decorated by a magpie, or someone who was forced to live off the castoffs of
others.
His assessment was abruptly curtailed as she pushed him down onto the
cushions and unsheathed her knife. He stiffened momentarily, wary, but she
only leaned down and cut the strap which held his uniform trousers in place
under his left boot, then proceeded to carefully split the outseam on the same
side to mid-thigh. That done, she resheathed the blade, put two fingers on a
spot about three inches above his knee on the outside, then closed her eyes,
scowling slightly. The peculiar tingling sensation manifested again,
spreading upward, this time much more intense, focused. The undertone of
sensuality was decidedly more pronounced, and he shifted uncomfortably.
Immediately, she smacked his knee with her free hand and shook her head, her
meaning unmistakable. He smiled a little, but obeyed, and the new sensations
deepened, blocking the pain as they usurped the nerve-pathways that would have
carried it. Feeling oddly disassociated, he watched her open the closure on
his boot as if it were someone else's foot she held. Her fingers left his
thigh and she eased his boot off, then took his foot in one hand and his
ankle in the other. Without warning, she rotated them back into alignment.
Agony blasted through her carefully-wrought blockade, and this time there
was no fighting it; he surrendered to the rising dark.
###
She withdrew, having done all she could for him. Any more would exhaust her too
completely. It had been much easier after he passed out and she no longer had
to sustain the pain-blocking as well as trying to heal, but now she felt
utterly drained. She always did after healing. For a long time she sat and
stared at him, wondering what had prompted her to aid one of Them.
Perhaps the simple fact that he had been attacked by his own kind had been
the trigger. That answer didn't satisfy. No, something had pulled her almost
bodily into the world Above, and she had felt compelled to obey. The only
time she had ignored such a compulsion, the day the Darkmind had found
her and the little-ones. The results had been disastrous. She touched her
throat, remembering. She would never again disregard such a call.
He seemed different, this one. She had not felt disdain from him, as she did
from most of Them. Why the difference? She studied the clothing he wore, and
thought it odd. Usually the Tall Ones were not so subdued in their dress,
preferring flowing robes in brilliant hues, not such austere design or muted
colors. He was a mature male, not as tall as some, though still taller than
she, and sparely built. His face was marked with lines of authority, of humor
and of stress but to her relief, she read no cruelty there, unlike another face
she recalled all too well. There was a subtle sense of... something, about him.
She couldn't put a name to it, but she remembered feeling it before, when she
was a child, from her mother's mother. She strained for a moment to identify
it, and finally it came. Power. Not of the mind, like hers, but power-over.
What the Tall Ones called authority, and confidence. He was important, this
man, if not to the Darkminds, then to some others she did not know.
Hope stirred within her, a feeble glow she had not felt in far too many years.
Perhaps this was the one she had been told to wait for. Perhaps... no. It
was better not to hope. She would restore him, and send him on his way.
Shaking off a shiver, she yawned and stretched, relieving cramped muscles, then
got up and dug through her collection of 'useful items' gleaned in her foragings
Above. After a few moments she located an object which she could use as a
splint. With some reluctance, for fabric was something she rarely found, she
tore a short length of cloth into strips and bound his ankle securely
into the metal device. She didn't want him ruining the work she had already
done. That accomplished, and knowing the consequences if she did not rest
immediately, she extinguished all but two candles and cautiously lay down as
far as possible from him to sleep.
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 3
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:42:45 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER THREE
Riker tapped on Picard's door. A few moments later it was opened, by the
roomservant. Riker was having a hard time adjusting to the disconcerting
sameness of them. Stepping inside, he found to his surprise that Picard was
not in the room. He turned to the servant.
"Where is Captain Picard?"
The servant shrugged.
"You don't know? When did you last see him?"
The youngster looked thoughtful, then turned and pointed through the
window at the sun, made a fist with one hand and holding his other palm flat,
lowered his fist from above his palm to below it.
Riker stared at him for a moment, without understanding. Patiently, the
servant pointed at the sun, then at his fist. This time Riker made the
connection.
"Last night?" He demanded.
The boy nodded and smiled, obviously pleased.
"He hasn't been here since last night?" he asked again, unconsciously
frowning, and raising his voice.
Once more, a nod, this time accompanied by a puzzled frown. He obviously
did not understand why Riker had asked again, since he had understood the
first time.
Riker cursed and hit his combadge with unnecessary force.
"Riker to Picard." he said firmly. Silence greeted his effort, so he tried
again.
"Riker to Picard, please respond."
He waited, the seconds lengthened into minutes without a response. He
turned back to the boy. "Did he say where he was going?"
The boy took a step backward and shook his head.
Riker took a deep breath. There was probably a perfectly reasonable
explanation for Picard's disappearance. He tapped his combadge again.
"Riker to Enterprise, please locate the Captain."
"Yes, sir."
The voice was Wesley Crusher's. Riker began to relax. A moment later
Wesley spoke, sounding puzzled.
"Sir... the Captain's combadge has been inactivated."
"Inactivated?" Riker asked incredulously. There were only two ways to
inactivate a combadge: One was to remove it, the other was to destroy it.
Since they were practically indestructible, it was unlikely to have been
destroyed, but why the hell would Picard have taken it off?
"Is there any way to locate him without it?"
There were a few seconds of silence before Wesley spoke again.
"I'm sorry, Commander, I can't track him without it, since the Halvami are
human. There aren't any differential readings to look for. If I was looking for
Data, or Worf, I could do it, but not the Captain. Is something wrong?"
"I'm not sure yet. I'll let you know. Riker out."
He thought a moment, trying to decide what to do next, and decided he
needed another opinion.
"Lieutenant Worf, report to the captain's room, immediately."
Apparently Worf sensed his unease, for only moments later, he barrelled in,
skidded to a stop, looked around the room, then at Riker.
"The Captain?" he asked.
Riker tried not to wince. "Is... missing."
"Explain."
Riker gestured to the servant, who was regarding Worf with an expression
akin to awe. "The boy said he hasn't seen him since last night. I had the
Enterprise try to locate him. Wesley said his combadge has been inactivated."
"I see." The Klingon scowled thoughtfully for a moment, then looked up.
"The Captain appeared disturbed almost since we arrived. Did he speak to
you about his concerns?"
Riker nodded. "As a matter of fact, he was disturbed about the 'servants.' He
wondered why they all appear to come from the same racial sub-group, and
why we've seen no one from that group over the age of twenty. He was
particularly disturbed by the fact that they are not allowed free
communication with us."
"Mmm." Worf said, noncommittally. He looked down at the boy, and
dropped down on his haunches, putting himself on the same level. Riker was
startled by the unconsciousness of the motion. When had Worf developed
that sort of sensitivity?
"You saw our captain leave last night. In which direction did he go?"
The boy pointed out the balcony doors to the east. Worf nodded
acknowledgement. "How many hours ago?"
After a moment's thought, the youth held up both hands, displaying three
fingers on each hand.
"Six hours? That would mean he left the room shortly after we returned from
the ceremonies."
His deduction drew a nod from the boy, and then, to Riker's astonishment,
the youngster reached out and traced a finger down the heavy ridges on
Worf's forehead. He was even more astonished that Worf allowed it. After a
moment, he stopped and put his fingers against Worf's throat. Worf growled,
and the boy grinned at him, dropped his hand to his side and bowed slightly.
As Worf straightened from his crouch, he noticed Riker's expression and
looked a trifle sheepish. "They seem to be fascinated by me, especially by my
voice. The young one who tends my room was similarly curious. They have
no fear of me at all... a fact I find odd, since they do appear to be afraid of
certain Halvami."
"Perhaps they can tell you're all bark and no bite." Riker said with a grin,
then he sobered quickly. "I'd like you to see what you can find outside, beam
down a security team if you need one. I'll contact Ser Delvekia and try to find
out what the hell is going on! And remember, we're here on a diplomatic
mission, we'll have to coordinate through Halvami Security."
Worf nodded curtly, and left the room, already in contact with the Enterprise.
Riker sat down at the ancient comunit on the desk to contact Delvekia.
###
Coran Delvekia paced, subtly annoyed that his pacing was undoubtedly
damaging the pile on his new carpet. Something else to blame on the
Fleeters. He still hadn't heard from Davan. He knew they must have been
successful; his recent conversation with Picard's first officer made that
obvious. So, where was Davan, with the body? He would have to produce it
soon, or that damned Klingon would start tearing the place apart looking for
their captain. Cursed nuisance, having a Klingon for a security chief. Who
ever heard of a Klingon serving aboard a Federation starship, anyway?
He realized now that he should have planned more thoroughly, kept the
Fleeters away from the Halflings altogether. He hadn't expected them to be
so perceptive... or so inquisitive. If Yggdrasil had come, as planned, there
would have been no problem. Captain Ng's mother would have made sure of
that, since she'd been the one who designed the carrier virus for the plague
that had, unfortunately, failed to remove the problem completely. He still
wasn't certain why it had failed, it should not have. It had decimated
the adults, but somehow many of the children had survived. At least they
were a convenient source of menial labor, and their silence had been
surgically ensured. He had done his best to rid the planet of the dual threat
posed by the Halflings. The simple fact that they had predated the colony
had put the colony in danger of losing its planet, and as if that weren't
enough, their metapsychic abilities had been terrifying. He remembered the
first time he'd realized that they were telepathic. He had almost let them see
his plans, but had been able to use the shield technique he'd developed as a
child in defense against his father's torments. Thinking about his father sent
a rush of adrenalin through him, tightening his stomach into a knot. He had
gotten him, finally, had paid him back for all the years of secret suffering.
And no one knew. Not even Davan.
His announcer chimed, and he rushed to open the door, expecting Davan. He
was not disappointed; his younger brother stood outside the door. One look
at the expression on his face told Coran something was wrong. Impatiently he
motioned Davan inside and closed the door.
"What is it?"
"We've lost him," Davan said tensely.
"You did what?" Coran demanded.
"We had him, easily, but he fell into that damned irrigation ditch just south
of the filtration plant. We couldn't have been more than a minute or two behind
him, but we couldn't find him."
"He transported?"
Davan shook his head. "Impossible. Our instruments would have picked up
the transporter activity. No, he simply vanished."
"Could he have been carried away by the water?"
"The canal was dry. The irrigation system is not used so early in the growing
season. There is no explanation for it at all. We searched for some time, but
we had to stop when the Fleeter security team showed up. They didn't find
him either, though they apparently found his communication device."
"I don't like it. How could he vanish? It isn't possible. He must be hiding
somewhere in the area. We cannot afford to have him reappear. Find him,
and get rid of him."
"We have tried..."
"Try harder, Davan. Our future depends on it. What about Seret?"
Some of the strain left Davan's narrow face. He smiled. "We no longer need
worry about Seret's belated attack of conscience. She will not be telling our
story to any Federation investigator."
"Good. I hope you managed that with more skill than your other
assignment."
"She was old. It will be taken as a natural death."
"It had better be."
Davan's mouth hardened into a narrow line as he nodded, then turned and
left the room. Coran swore softly, and placed a call to Jaron Kelssohn.
###
Picard woke, the subdued ache in his leg bringing immediate recollection of
recent events. He sighed; it would have been nice to have dreamed it. Two
candles still burned in battered metal cups on a nearby rock shelf. He
chuckled a little, it had been a good many years since he had required a
nightlight. Darkness held no terrors for him, as he had spent most of his life
surrounded by the infinite darkness of space. Still, it was a considerate
gesture.
His benefactress lay at the farthest edge of the 'nest' beneath a corner of the
quilt, deeply asleep. Her face seemed even thinner, and more shadowed than
before. Small, red-haired, olive-skinned... and about twenty-five, though it
was hard to tell, since her size made her seem young. She was certainly the
oldest of the servant-caste he had yet seen. He had managed to find exactly
what he was looking for, if in a somewhat unorthodox manner. Though he
had several hundred questions to ask, he let her sleep. She looked as though
she needed it.
He examined his ankle gingerly. She had immobilized it in a U-shaped metal
bracket which had obviously spent most of its existence inside a machine. The
short side passed under his instep, with the longer pieces extending up on
either side of his ankle. She had wrapped strips of cloth around it for padding,
crisscrossing longer strips over and around both it and his ankle, effectively
splinting it. It hurt far less than he thought it should, so-she must
have used that pain-blocking technique again. It was unusual, to say the
least, unlike anything he had ever heard of, or experienced before. With its
peculiarly sensual tone, it was also something which would take some getting
used to.
Scowling, he lay back, realizing that he was obviously not going anywhere
anytime soon. How long would it take his people to find him? He wondered
if there were a way of contacting them through the woman. Perhaps she
could be prevailed upon to try and find his combadge, though she had done
more than he could have hoped for already. He wondered who she was, and
why she chose to live as she did... or if it was a choice. Halvam was reputed
to be in good economic condition, but his brief experience on Halvam had
already told him things might not be as they were touted.
Bored, he began trying to piece together exactly what had happened and
why. Someone had known he was suspicious, and that same person did not
want him nosing around. In fact, they hadn't wanted it enough to commit the
utterly stupid mistake of trying to get rid of him. Stupid because there was
no way Starfleet would simply overlook the injury, death or disappearance of
one of its captains. How had they planned to explain it? An accident? It was
highly unlikely that any of his officers would accept that verdict. The very
fact that an attempt was made at all reinforced his suspicious.
###
Though it was difficult to tell time without being able to see the sun's
movement, Picard guessed an hour had passed when his hostess woke. She
sat up, stretched, rubbed her nose, and then saw him. He could tell that for a
moment she did not remember him, because her eyes went wide, and all the
color drained from her face; then apparently memory set in, for she visibly
relaxed, taking a short, deep breath. He sat up as well, and put out a hand,
palm out.
"I am Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the Federation Starship Enterprise."
She did not answer, but she did put her fingers against his in greeting. She
did not speak. He frowned a little.
"You are...?" he prompted.
She made a sound, a breath expelled through her nostrils, and returned his
scowl. Indicating frustration he wondered? Why? He looked around,
suspecting a listening device. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he tried again.
"Can we be overheard?"
She shook her head, and looked exasperated, a universal expression if ever
there was one. She put her hand on her throat, moved it to her mouth and
shook her head. She repeated the gesture several times. For a moment, he
wondered why didn't she simply tell him whatever it was, then the light
dawned. She did not speak because she could not. She was mute. He looked
up, and found her nodding assent before he could speak. His eyes narrowed.
A telepath?
Again, she nodded, and touched her chest, her ear, then touched his forehead.
"You hear my thoughts?" he ventured.
She nodded.
"All the time, or only with effort?"
She scowled, as if concentrating.
"With effort," he translated, looking to her for confirmation. She nodded.
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
For the first time, she seemed to hesitate. After a moment, she shrugged,
tugged on one of her braids, then reached forward to take a section of his
uniform between her fingers. The fabric, where she held it, was red.
"Red?" he guessed. She nodded. "That's not a name, it's a nickname."
She spread her hands apologetically.
"Come now, you must have a name. Can you write it for me?"
Her expression could have been no less amazed if he had asked her to climb a
ladder and get him a star. She touched her chest as if to say "Who, me?"
He stared back, equally stunned. "You can't write?"
She shook her head.
"My god...," he breathed, unable to imagine what it must be like to be unable
to speak, read or write... to have so little ability to communicate would
surely drive him mad. To have no access to literature, or even basic
instructions? Appalling. She seemed intelligent, so the lack was all the more
inexplicable. As a Federation human colony, the government of Halvam was
required to provide at least basic education for its people. If she was a
representative sample, Halvam was in deep violation of its charter, and in
danger of losing its status as a senior colony. He looked at her, shook his
head.
"I'm sorry." The words fell awkwardly, inadequate.
She stared at him for a long time, as if trying to ascertain his sincerity.
Finally, she seemed satisfied, and he returned to his earlier subject.
"Do you really not have a name?"
She looked away in obvious discomfort. He thought of half a dozen names
that would suit her. Titania, Galadriel, Guinevere... with sudden
embarrassment he realized that his it was not his place to name her.
She stood suddenly, and walked over to a pile of stones against one wall.
Carefully she removed them until she uncovered something large and
rectangular, wrapped in old, ragged cloth. Carrying the object over to where
he sat, she opened the wrappings to reveal a book. Turning the pages as if
she were afraid they might break, she paged through the book. Many pages
bore brilliantly colored vignettes; men and women in ancient costume, in
various Pre-Raphaelite poses, each picture bordered by intricate interlaced
figures. There was an almost stained-glass quality to the illustrations. When
she finally stopped, and smoothed the book open with one hand, he glanced
at the title; Irish Folk Tales.
Picard wondered briefly if there was a connection between her red hair and
the Irish folktales. Was she of Irish extraction? That might explain her
coloring. The book lay open to the first page of a story, text on the left, an
illustration on the right, a woman in a green gown, red-gold hair braided in
many sections, each one threaded with green and gold ribbons. She touched
the woman in the drawing, then her lips. He looked into her extraordinary
eyes, but had to look away after only seconds. Her gaze was too
disconcerting.
"You want me to tell you her name?" he asked.
She nodded. He had no idea how he had understood her. With so little to go
on, he should not have, yet he had. Perhaps she was a projective as well as a
receptive telepath.
He read the first few lines of the story, and found the name. Just to make
certain, he scanned down the page, and confirmed it. As always with a Gaelic
word, it was anyone's guess how to say it, but he thought he had it.
"Her name is Etain." he said, pronouncing it with the second syllable accented,
a short initial vowel, and a soft 't,' lengthening the internal vowel...
'Ah-deen'.
Her eyes closed, and a slight shudder went through her. He watched her
hands clench into fists. She knew the sound, obviously.
"It is your name?" he asked softly.
She nodded, eyes still closed, then abruptly turned away, putting a shaking
hand to her face for a moment. Before he could think of anything to say, she
jumped up, vaulted onto the low shelf where the access tunnel opened, and
was gone. Minutes passed, and when she did not return he settled back and
wondered what was happening aboard the Enterprise. He was certain they
had missed him by now, where the hell were they?
###
Neither the lightless passageway or the tears that blurred and stung in her
eyes hampered her. She knew the way by heart; it was not necessary to see.
Once she had gone that way daily, first to mourn, then later to remember.
Finally she had stopped going, but she still remembered the way. She rarely
forgot anything... except her own name. It had been years since she had
thought of it. She was simply herself. That was all. She had long ago ceased
to identify herself with a name. The few Tall-Ones she had contact with
called her Red, but then, they called all of her kind that, among other, less
pleasant names. Even when the one called Picard had asked, she had not
been able to remember, but she had remembered the book brought long-ago
as a gift by the Tall-Ones who had later brought death as a further gift, and
now she knew. Etain. With the memory of her own name awakened, others
came. Her mother, Briid, with her laughing gray eyes and almost golden
hair. Mhaiv, her grandmother, leader, wisewoman; her dark-haired, moody
father Isin, the twins Connal and Fahn.... every forgotten name had come
flooding back to torment her with memories best forgotten. Gone now, all
gone. Only the children, whose systems had responded more quickly to her
young and uncertain talent still remained, yet perhaps it would have been
better to let them go as well.
Her pace slowed as she grew fatigued, her lungs struggling to draw more air,
her muscles aching. It was a long way to where the dead lay quiet, waiting
for her to tell their tale. They might wait forever. Where was the bard who
could sing without a voice? They asked too much, the dead. But then, not so
much as the living. Each time she ventured above, and saw her kin where the
Darkmind kept them, she knew that somehow she must find a way to free
them, or they would be trapped forever in their childrens bodies, their
children's minds. She had avoided that fate at least; the Darkmind's knife had
robbed her of her songs, but she had escaped before they had done the other
thing to her. She grew, and aged, and learned. They did not. She felt the
changes in herself more strongly for missing it in them.
Now, though the little-ones knew her still, and loved her, and helped her
from time to time, they were incapable of more. The Darkmind held them too
firmly, and nothing she could do would change that. They would not betray
her, but for themselves they would do nothing. They feared him more than
they loved her. Nothing she could do, no memory she could stir had been
able to break that hold.
She turned a corner, and sensed a change in the air. Here it held a dry, dusty
sweetness... the scent of the dead. She was close. She slowed, and composed
herself, rubbing the traces of tears away, straightening her clothing,
smoothing her hair. She did not wish to be disrespectful. The passage
widened, now broad enough for six to walk abreast. She knew it extended
upward the same distance. She put a hand against one wall and explored the
carvings which covered it, recognizing where she stood. The entrance was
only a few steps away. She traced the lines of one deep-carved spiral inward,
calming herself, centering, then lifted her hands higher, and almost above her
reach found the smooth, cool curve she sought. With both hands against the
globe she commanded it to life. After a few moments, faintly at first, then
with growing intensity it began to glow with a pale, milky light. She sighed
with relief. She hadn't been sure she could still do it, it had been so long.
Carvings sprang into sharp clarity as she lowered her hands, turning to face
the the Mother's Gate. Walls of mahogany-colored stone arched to a point high
above her head, crowned with relief of a closed crescent. The floor beneath the
point dipped gently to a similar, though less exaggerated curve below, forming
a teardrop shape. Every surface of the gate was covered with carvings, lines
spiraling, interlacing, dizzying. It was the oldest, most sacred place she
knew. Kneeling just outside the gate's boundary she placed both hands palm-down
against the floor. Voiceless, she asked admission, waited a moment, then edged
into the gateway. A shiver coursed through her, awe. She felt Presence, vast,
unknowable. After a moment, as if some unseen hand had lifted from her back,
the feeling was gone. She touched her hand quickly to her heart in thanks and
turned to walk slowly down the incline. Even after so long, she still had
trouble with the silence. The city should be full of voices, laughter, tears,
songs, shouts, whispers, anything but silence. She passed the houses where she
had played, knowing they would never again sound with life. As she had done as
a child, she short-cut her route by sliding down the channels her ancestors had
cut to carry away the water which sometimes flooded down from Above when it
rained. The quick, breathless exhilaration which had accompanied such slides
in the past flared briefly, and drew a small smile, one which quickly faded as
she rounded the last corner and came to the standing stones arrayed in the
center of the vast cave. She shuddered, memory overwhelming her for a moment,
then took a quick, deep breath and stepped closer to the center stone. What
remained of Mhaiv's physical being made a very little shape under the cloth
which covered her. Etain sat down, her back against the stone, and bent her
head, saying in her mind what she longed to say aloud.
__Grandmother... I need you. Is it right to aid one of them, after what they
have done to us?__
She waited. Time passed. Gradually a pervasive calm came over her, and
with it a surety. She smiled. She had her answer. She had chosen the right
path. Her stomach growled, and she stood up, brushing the fine sand from
her skirt. Time to go above, and find food. Food for herself, and for her
guest. She scowled. That meant a visit one of the kitchens Above, one where
her kin worked. Normally she scavenged her food, but while one might do it
for oneself, one did not offer a guest a meal garnered from another's leavings.
###
One of the tunnels exited near a place of disused machines not far from the
dormitory which housed her remaining Kin. She had left one of the blue-gray
smocks her Kin wore there for just such occasions. Distastefully she stripped
off her skirt and vest and pulled the ugly thing over her head, then put her
hair up, securing it with a small, pointed stick, so that it more closely
resembled the others' short-cropped hair. Though it was ugly, the smock's
looseness also helped disguise her more mature figure. Finally, she picked up
a knotted string bag from the floor and slung it over her shoulder. That done,
Etain crouched in the passage behind the screen-stone and opened her mind,
searching for threat. She sensed no one near, and, reassured, pushed aside
the stone and crawled out.
It was still night. She was glad. Going Above in daylight was hazardous.
She glanced west and saw the first pale hint of dawn creeping along the
horizon. It was night, but just barely. She would have to hurry. Quickly she
crossed the graveled path which led to the front of the building, wincing as
the jagged stones hurt her feet, and was glad when she reached the cool
smoothness of the grass. The Kin were near, she could feel them, sleeping, so
close, yet beyond her reach forever. Angrily she rubbed her stinging nose,
leaned against the wall and called to them.
__Ndon, are you there?__
Startled, sleepy thoughts were her only answer for a little while, then finally,
Ndon responded.
__We are here. You should go, it is not safe!__
__I know, but I need food. Can you help?__
There was a long pause, then finally, a different personality replied. __I will
open the door, but no more.__
She knew that one, Saren, the soft-hearted. Though Ndon was oldest, Saren
was the one who remembered her best. Yet even he had paused before
agreeing. She was close to losing them completely now, the Darkmind had
made them forget. She put her forehead against the cold rough stone and
concentrated on the physical discomfort so that she could ignore the mental
pain. Finally she won back her control.
__Thank you Saren, it is enough. I will meet you there.__
__No! Wait until I have gone. If they catch me with you, I will be
punished.__
Once Saren would not have cared. He would have risked the punishment to
spend a few moments with her. The lump in her throat grew unbearable.
__I will wait.__
She sensed Saren's surreptitious movements as he slipped to the kitchen door
and unlocked it. Deliberately she waited until she felt his relief and knew he
was safe back in his bed. Only then did she sneak around to the rear of the
building to find the open door.
It was warm inside the building, and she needed no guide to find the kitchens.
The way was familiar, and even if it had not been, she would have been able to
find it by scent alone. She could smell the grains, the fruits and
vegetables which were stored there. Even though they were kept in sealed
containers, their scents managed to escape. Her mouth began to water. How
long had it been since she had last eaten? She was so used to being hungry
that she sometimes forgot what it was like not to be. This time it had been
longer than some times, not as long as others. She could also smell the sharp,
acrid scent of her own fear. Coming here was not safe.
Quietly she padded down the short hall which opened onto the kitchen. A
bowl on one of the wide counters held a dozen apples; she chose two and
slipped them into her bag. Securing the bag, she boosted herself onto the
counter and opened the cupboards which would otherwise have been above
her head. The strong yeasty-nutty aroma of bread washed out, and she
reached in, then hesitated for a moment. There were fewer loaves than usual,
only six sat on the shelf. She wanted to take two, as she was feeding an extra
person, but was sure that would be noticed. From past experience she knew
that if her theft was too obvious, the blame would be placed on one of the
little ones. Regretfully she chose the largest of those available, added it to
her collection and closed the door.
Sliding off the counter, she went to the large cold place where the vegetables
were kept and gathered a few of several different varieties. She glanced at the
second cold place, the one where they stored meats, and gazed at it wistfully.
Unfortunately she had no way to cook, so she had to pass it by. What she had
would have to do. With a sigh she turned to go, and her breath caught in her
throat as she saw someone standing in the doorway watching her. The sense
of relief that flooded her when she realized it was only Diertra was almost
enough to buckle her knees. She had thought she was caught.
__Diertra, what are you doing here!__
The young girl looked down. __I'm sorry. I sensed you were here, and
wanted to see you. It's been so long...__
Immediately Etain felt ashamed of her reaction. It was her own fear that
prompted her harshness. She knelt and held out her arms. __No Diertra, I
am the one who should be sorry, I was just startled. Come here."
Diertra needed no further urging and Etain put her arms around her, ruffling
her dark chesnut hair affectionately. It felt strange to hold her, she was so
small still. As if echoing her own thoughts, Diertra looked up.
__You are bigger than I remember.__
__I know. I always am.__ She refrained from telling Diertra why. She had
long ago learned that reminding the little-ones that they should be as she was
only upset them. __Are you well, little sister?__
Diertra nodded, and put a hand up to touch Etain's hair. __Did you cut it?__
she asked anxiously.
__No, I put it up so I would look more like you.__
__Oh.__ Diertra frowned. __Why would you want to look like me?__
Etain felt as if someone were squeezing her throat. Yet another lie, on top of
all the others. But what else to do? __Because you are the prettiest girl I
know.__
Diertra grinned, the expression a quick flash of the boisterous child she had
once been, but all too soon she sobered. __You should go. He will catch
you.__
__No he won't. I'm too fast for him. But you are right. I should go.__
__I wish you could stay.__
Etain clenched her teeth against the urge to cry, and shook her head. __I
cannot. But you could come with me!__
Diertra became very still, like a digger caught in the light. Etain could feel
her fear like a live thing. She touched Diertra's hair once more. __No, I
know, you cannot do that any more than I can stay. I love you Diertra.__
__I love you too.__
Etain's vision blurred. __Diertra... please, remember me.__
Diertra nodded, her gray eyes wide, puzzled. She didn't understand the
reason for Etain's request. Etain knew she would forget. All the others had.
Goddess, it hurt! She leaned down and quickly kissed the Diertra's forehead,
then stood.
__Goodbye little-one.__
__Goodbye.__
She kept her pace to a walk until she had exited the building. After a cursory
glance to be sure no one was in sight, she broke into a trot, and finally ran,
tears streaming down her face, not caring that the stones hurt her feet when
she came to them. She made her way through the maze-like rows of
machines, and skinned her knees crawling into the tunnel too quickly. She
tore off the gray smock, threw it down and ground it savagely into the dirt,
wishing that the action would do some real damage to the virtually
indestructable fabric.
Abruptly she sat down, hugging her knees, the rage draining away, leaving
only despair. She was so helpless, so powerless. She hated the way she felt
when she went there, and she resented the fact that because of Picard she had
been forced to endure it again. Most of the time she managed to push her
insignificance to some dark corner of her mind where it did not bother her.
She sighed. What good did it do to feel sorry for herself? She picked up her
vest and shrugged into it, wrapped and tied her skirt securely then
shouldered the bag of provisions and headed back toward her nest.
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 4
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:43:17 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER FOUR
Riker sat in Picard's ready-room, in one of the conference-table chairs. Some
sort of vague, superstitious prejudice had kept him out of the Captain's chair.
It was one thing to occupy the conn on the bridge, but it felt almost
sacrilegious to consider taking Picard's place here in his sanctuary. He had
done it once before, all too recently, and he thought he had dealt with these
feelings then. Now he knew better. Deliberately steering his thoughts to less
troublesome topics, he mentally replayed his conversation with Ser Delvekia for
the fifteenth time at least, trying to put his finger on what it was that made
him suspect the man was lying. Perhaps it had been the smoothness of his
surprise when told of the Picard's disappearance. Perhaps the oily, almost
obsequious tone of his apology, and the transparency of his explanation.
Anti-Federation terrorists? An amazingly convienient bunch of them, it
seemed, as Data had checked planetary news records for previous reports of
anti-Federation factions. There weren't any. Apparently these terrorists had
conveniently appeared just in time to do something with the Captain. None
of it added up.
He slammed a hand down on the table in frustration. Where was Deanna
when he needed her? Off at Starbase 204, telling a class of candidates what it
was like to be a Ship's Counselor, instead where she belonged, on the ship
being the Counselor! Her empathic abilities would be invaluable right about
now. If nothing else, her inner calm had a way of centering him, sharpening
his focus. He wondered if she affected Picard the same way, or if it was his
own previous relationship with her that produced that effect. The comsignal
sounded.
"Commander Riker?"
He sighed, recognizing the voice. "Come."
The doors slid open and Worf stepped inside. His eyes went from the
Captain's chair to Riker's position, and he seemed to nod slightly.
"Your report?"
"We found this." He extended his hand. Against the darkness of his skin, the
silver and gold metal seemed oddly bright. Riker took the combadge and set
it on the table.
"Nothing else?"
"There were indications of an altercation where we found this, but the heavy
concentrations of sensor-opaque materials in Halvam's soil make it difficult to
obtain accurate sensor readings. From visual signs, I would say a group of
five unknowns attacked the Captain, though how he came to be there is still
unknown. The signs disappear at the edge of a small ditch, apparently a
drainage canal. The lack of a trail leading away from the site indicates that
the group transported out following the confrontation."
"So for now we must assume that the Captain is being held hostage by this so-
called terrorist group, as Ser Delvekia said."
"That is our only option at the moment. I am working on others. Ship's
sensors are focused on the area where we found the combadge, but we are
experiencing massive signal bounceback from sensor-opaque materials.
Lieutenant LaForge is working on cleaning up the signal. Apparently his
VISOR does not have as much trouble with sensor-opacity, so he is
attempting to patch a similar system into the sensor controls."
Riker had a sudden vision of a giant VISOR sitting atop the saucer section and
ruthlessly controlled a chuckle. It was neither the time or the place for
humor. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Keep me posted."
Worf nodded, and then he straightened and locked his hands behind his back
in a posture Riker recognised as his 'I want to ask something Klingon' mode.
"Is there something else, Lieutenant?"
"Sir, I request permission to return to Halvam, to the site where we recovered
the Captain's combadge."
"For what reason?"
"To keep Dakhar."
Riker's eyebrows lifted. The Dakhar. A sort of Klingon vigil. It was also
referred to as "finding a pathway where none exists". It involved fasting, and,
as did most Klingon rituals, a degree of physical discomfort. It was in some
ways similar to a shamanistic vision-quest. He cleared his throat.
"Ah... yes. I see. Do you feel it would be useful?"
"If I did not, I would not request it."
"It might be to our advantage to have you there, keeping an eye on things.
You have my permission... but remember one thing. I do not feel that you
have been lax, nor would the Captain, I am sure. You have no cause to keep
Dakhar other than your own desire to do so."
Worf scowled. "Commander, I have been negligent. If I had not, the Captain
would not have been taken."
"I disagree. Captain Picard did not alert you to his plans, therefore you are
not responsible for his disappearence. N'kha."
Worf bridled at Riker's use of the word which, politely translated, meant 'you
may not say more.' Accurately translated it meant 'shut up and don't argue,'
but he did as he was told. With an abrupt nod, he turned to leave the room,
and Riker stopped him.
"Lieutenant Worf, communications are to be coded... no, on second thought,
that would alert them to our suspicions. Don't use code, but make any
transmissions as... cryptic as possible."
"I understand."
Worf left, and Riker returned to his previous occupation, feeling singularly
helpless. Not a feeling he was accustomed to. Not a feeling he enjoyed at all.
###
A sound in the access tunnel caused Picard to tense. He pulled the quilt
partially over himself so that he could see, but not readily be seen. A moment
later Etain appeared in the opening. She dropped into the room, and stood
for a moment, staring down at an object she held in her hands, then, slowly,
she walked to the single chair and sat down, still staring at the object. He
squinted, trying to make out what it was. It looked like a small cloth bag.
His guess was confirmed when she opened it, and dumped several objects
haphazardly onto the floor. She stared at them the same way she had stared at
the bag. It was strange, she just gazing blankly. Suddenly she curled in on
herself, drawing up her knees, wrapping her arms around them and putting her
head on her arms. It wasn't until then, seeing the reflection of light off the
moisture on her face, that he realized she was crying. He stared at the
objects himself, one was larger than the others, brown, and rounded; two were
reddish, also round, but more globular, several long, leafy green and orange
things. A still life of bread, fruit and vegetables. Not exactly subjects to
weep over.
Several moments passed, then she sniffed, rubbed her face with her hands,
took a deep breath and leaned over to pick up the food from where she had
dropped it, dusting each piece off carefully as she replaced it on the table.
Suddenly, as if just remembering his presence, she turned toward him. When
she realized he had been watching her, a flush dark enough to see even in the
dimness flooded her face. After a moment she shook her head again, this
time looking resigned. With an audible sigh, she turned away, picked up one
of the apples and threw it to him.
Startled, he still managed to catch it as she picked up the other one and bit
into it. He watched her, remembering her earlier reaction to it, and wondered
why the sudden change of attitude. Without thinking about it, he asked.
"Why did the food upset you?"
She spun to face him, her eyes seeking his. She looked down at the fruit and
once again a dark flush colored her face. She put the apple down, looked at
him with an expression that was angry and hurt, almost accusatory, then she
turned away again, deliberately, and sat down with her back to him. He
scowled, baffled by her reaction. What would account for her response, both
then, and now? So far he seemed to have done quite well in interpreting her
gestures, but without her willingness to communicate, he might never find out.
Giving up, he bit into his apple, letting its cool, sweet-sour taste distract
him from her silence. He was surprisingly hungry, which made him wonder
exactly how long he had been below ground. He had no way to tell if it had
been hours or days. How long had he been unconscious? How long was he
going to have to stay? His thoughts turned to how he was going to keep
himself from going mad with boredom while waiting for his crew to track
him down. No conversation, and worse, no books.
He remembered suddenly that he did have at least one book. The one she
had shown him earlier. He reached down beside the cushions where he had placed
it, picked it up and opened it to the title page. It was a limited edition,
from an obscure press, and almost forty years old: a collector's dream. It was
exquisite, printed on sealed paper, in a twentieth-century roman typeface. He
wondered how she had come by it. It seemed odd that someone who could
not read would possess, and obviously treasure, a book. He turned to the
first page and began to read.
After a little while he became aware that she was watching him. He looked
up, in time to catch the brief instant of loss, pain and raw longing in her
expression before she masked it, looking away as if she did not care. He
looked from the book, to her, and as clearly as if she had spoken he knew that
although she could not read, someone once had read to her. Someone she
had cared about, and missed. Probably a parent, he guessed. It made sense,
especially as she had been named for a character in the book. He found
himself feeling strangely guilty for his ability to read. It was, however, an
ability he could share.
"Etain?"
She jumped, obviously startled, and turned to stare at him. No doubt the
sound of a voice in this place seemed strange to her.
"Would you like me to read to you?" he asked.
She eyed him suspiciously, her gaze going from his face, to the book, and
back several times before she finally nodded, a quick, jerky, barely-there nod.
Wondering why she was so suspicious of him, Picard turned back to the
beginning of the story and began to read, somewhat awkwardly at first. It
was a very different thing to read for someone else's enjoyment rather than
one's own but before long, the words took on a life of their own. Soon Etain
had moved from her position across the room to one near enough for her to
see both him and the book, and she listened with a disturbing intensity. He
tried to hold the book flat so that she could see the pages from where she sat,
since she would not come within arms' reach.
He read until his voice began to grow hoarse. He realized he was thirsty, and
at the same time began to be uncomfortably aware of certain other, more
prosaic, bodily needs. Generally the availability of sanitary facilities was a
given, but he had seen nothing to indicate the presence of such a thing here,
not even a chamber-pot. He glanced over at Etain and found her grinning at
him. He was so surprised by her smile that he momentarily forgot he was
thirsty and uncomfortable, and simply stared at her. Then it occurred to him
to wonder what she was grinning about. Seconds after that, he remembered
she was a telepath. He found himself grinning back.
"Well, are you going to keep me in suspense?" he asked.
Still smiling, she shook her head and flowed to her feet from the cross-legged
position she had assumed for listening. She had that same oddly effortless
grace he had seen in others of her kind. Oddly, he caught himself thinking of
her as not entirely human. She extended her hands down toward him and
helped him to his feet, then took most of his weight on herself as she
awkwardly maneuvered him across the small space to a spot by the wall.
The wall? He wondered exactly what it was he was supposed to do with the
wall?
She tapped his wrist to get his full attention, then reached out and pointed to
one of the painted hand-prints which adorned the surface there. It seemed a
slightly different color than the rest. Steadying him carefully, she placed
her hand against it and pushed. With a slight scraping sound, the solid rock
seemed to give way. It was a door, set in stone, and carefully
counterweighted to swing easily. Without knowing it was there, he would
probably never have found it. The small chamber rather resembled a
medieval garderobe. Puzzled, he studied the room. A shallow basin had
been hollowed from the living stone, water from some unknown source
above flowed into it along a masoned groove. The overflow from the basin
was channelled along a similar groove which carried it into what was
unmistakably what he had been looking for, from whence it no doubt carried
wastes away into some distant receptacle.
It was simple, elegant, and utterly bizarre. Who would go to such trouble,
carving native stone and coaxing groundwater to do the job an ordinary
disposal chamber could do with far less work and expense? Some anti-
technology sort? He stared at the workmanship, and ran his fingers along the
edge of the upper groove, noticing how smooth the flow of water had worn
the stone. It took time for that to occur. Too much time. Would a hundred
years be sufficient? Halvam had been colonized only a little over that. Then
he recalled his thought of a moment earlier, that she was not entirely human.
With a sinking certainty he began to wonder if he was dealing with
something far worse than simple discrimination.
"Etain... you, your people, how long have you been here? On this world, I
mean?"
She shrugged, then pointed meaningfully at the garderobe, turned and left
him alone. He cursed softly at the communication difficulty and hopped
awkwardly over to the basin to scoop up a drink in cupped palms. His ankle
had begun to throb within its bindings.
###
When he had finished, he called her back and she helped him return to his
place in the cushions, then picked up the book and held it out to him, her
desire obvious. He shook his head.
"Not just yet, Etain. I need to ask you some questions... I will try to phrase
them in such a way you can easily answer."
Her face fell, disappointment obvious, her expression a classic pout. He
chuckled.
"I promise you, more later. Now, were your people here before the... before
our colonists arrived?"
She looked puzzled, then held one hand a good distance above her head.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
She huffed and rolled her eyes in frustration, then reached forward to tap him
on the chest, and once more hold her hand above her head. Obviously she
was having difficulty with the question. But with which part? He reviewed
his words, matched them with her actions. There was only one difficult
word, but he couldn't associate her actions with it.
"You don't know the word 'colonist'?" he ventured.
She nodded. He sighed. This was going to be a lot of work. He understood
why she had tapped him, she was identifying him with the colonists, but why
was she holding her hand over her head?
She stood up, pointed at herself and put her hand on top of her head. Then
she pointed at him, and raised her hand about eight inches.
He understood, finally. "Of course, they're all taller than you are, aren't
they? Yes. That is exactly who I meant by colonists. Were your people here
before they came?"
She nodded. Even though he had been half-expecting that answer, Picard still
felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.
"My god..." he breathed. "A preexisting native population, and they're using
them for slave labor! How the hell did this world get certified for
colonization with extant sentient inhabitants?"
He looked up to find her frowning at him obviously trying to make sense of
his words. He shook his head.
"Sorry. I was talking to myself. A bad habit. So, your species is telepathic
rather than verbal..." he broke off, realized he was speaking above her head
and rephrased the questions. "I mean, you use thoughts to communicate
rather than words?"
She shook her head slowly, her hand going to her throat in a oddly protective
gesture. The hunted look he had seen on her face that first moment returned
for a fleeting second.
"You do use words?" he asked, puzzled.
She nodded.
"Then why don't you, any of you, speak?"
For answer she reached down and unsheathed her knife, mimed drawing its edge
down her throat, then made a pulling-out-throwing-away gesture. With her knife
still in her hand, she pointed up, and made the sign for the colonists once
more.
He had no difficulty translating what she had just told him. The colonists had
deliberately deprived them of the ability to speak. A cold rage flared in him,
and he instinctively started to his feet to take action... any kind of action.
Pain forced him back down with a startled gasp. He had forgotten about his
ankle.
She was beside him instantly, her left hand on his ankle, the other above his
knee, like before. Remembering what she had done then, Picard grabbed her
right hand and lifted it away before she could begin. She looked up at him,
startled and confused. Her 'why not?' came through clearly.
"Do you know what sort of sensation you engender when you do that?"
Wide eyed, she shook her head.
With a sigh, he let go of her wrist.
"Never mind, then. Just suffice it to say I would rather you didn't do that."
Etain shrugged, and turned her attention back to his ankle, slipping the
fingers of her left hand beneath the bandages but holding her other hand
away from his knee. The ache in his ankle began to intensify, growing past
easily bearable into real torment. She was barely touching him, but somehow
he knew that she was doing something which increased the pain.
"What are you doing?" he managed to grit out from between clenched teeth.
She glanced up at him, her free hand hovering above his knee as she lifted her
eyebrows in question.
"I know, you can't answer that. Is this in retaliation for my not reading
more?"
The pain eased abruptly as she lifted her hand, her eyes met his, her
expression wounded.
"Etain, it was a joke," he explained gently, "...but I don't understand what
you're doing, or why."
She reached up and touched her fingers to his face, two just above his nose,
two on his cheek, her thumb against his jaw, then closed her eyes and
scowled fiercely. With a shock he recognized the configuration as the one
used by Vulcans in the mind-meld. It took only a moment, but suddenly he
knew. Without words, she told him. She was healing him, or trying to. He
understood finally that the pain had increased due to the acceleration of the
normal healing process, just as it did with the mechanical regenerator units
the Federation used. Her pain-block took the place of the endorphin booster
the regen unit used. Not a common ability among humans. Of course, no
matter how human she looked, he had to remember he was dealing with a new
species here. Her fingers left his face and she sat back. He stared at her,
shaking his head.
"Why would you do that for me? After what my kind has done?" he asked
quietly.
She shrugged, with the embarrassed expression common to those who cannot
explain their motives to themselves, let alone to someone else.
"Whatever the reason, I thank you, and I cannot apologize enough for the
barbarity of my fellow humans. You may rest assured, if... no, when, I get
back to my ship I will make certain that the situation does not remain as it
is."
She stared at him for so long that he began to wonder what he'd done or said
wrong. Finally, with careful gravity, she reached out and took his hand,
holding it in hers palm-up; touched it briefly to her forehead, then her chest,
then put his palm against hers before letting it go. Recognizing a ritual of
some sort, he allowed his hand to rest against hers for a moment before he
lowered it.
He didn't want to offend her, but it was risky to participate in a ritual he
didn't completely understand. With more than a bit of trepidation, he hoped
he hadn't just managed to get engaged. He recalled a similar ritual from
Earth's past, an oath pledging head, heart, and hand in service to another, a
kind of fealty. Hopefully that was Etain's intent. Even that was more than he
should accept.
"You honor me, but I cannot accept a pledge given without full
understanding. I mean no insult, but am bound by my own codes."
She nodded understanding, and did not seem offended. She reached for his
ankle, and her right hand headed for his knee. Once more he stopped her.
"No, Etain. I can manage without that."
She frowned, obviously perplexed by his refusal. He couldn't come up with a
way to explain it that wasn't embarrassing, or that she would understand.
She obviously had no idea what her pain-block did to an adult male. Another
gap in her eduction, one he had no intention of remedying.
"Please, I'd rather try to get through it without your pain-block. It has an...
uncomfortable effect on me."
She sighed and shrugged. He could tell that she was thinking something
along the lines of 'if he wants to be stupid, let him.' It was remarkable how
well she managed to communicate considering her disability.
She bent over his ankle and slid her fingers beneath the bindings again. He
set his jaw, and waited. She worked in stages, a scowl of fierce concentration
on her face. Each time she stopped she seemed to lose something, to become
somehow smaller, less vibrant. He began to realize, belatedly, that healing
was not something she accomplished without cost.
After the third time, when she would have begun again, he reached down
and put his hands over hers, drawing them away. She lifted her head,
swaying, and stared at him with a puzzled, half-drunken expression, blinking
owlishly.
"Stop now, there's no need for you to continue at your own expense. My
people will find me soon, and they will take care of this. Do you understand?"
She nodded, closed her eyes, and started to slide sideways. Startled, Picard
caught her before she hit the floor and eased her down onto the cushions
instead. He studied her for a moment, concerned, but her deep, even
breathing reassured him. It seemed she was simply exhausted. He frowned,
realizing that her state was due to what she had done for him. Had he
realized earlier what it was costing her, he would not have allowed her to
continue. He would never have allowed a crewmember to be put in physical
jeopardy, and she wasn't even that. Also, he didn't like being indebted, to
anyone. But then, he was already in her debt, so what mattered one more
thing? He sighed, and studied her again. Although she was so thin he could
practically see where the bones lay beneath her skin, she seemed healthy
enough, not having the dry, brittle hair or dull skin of the chronically
malnourished.
Despite her apparent health, he didn't think her thinness was natural to her.
The others of her kind had been nowhere near as slight, though they had been
small and delicately built. He wished he had a better word for them; calling
them 'servants' only perpetuated an image he wanted to destroy. After a
moment's deliberation, he decided to refer to them as natives. It felt more
appropriate, if they truly had predated the colonists. At this point, he had
no reason to believe they had not; it explained too much.
God... he had so many questions! Where were all the adults? Where were their
cities... what level of technology had they possessed, prior to the human
colonization of Halvam? If Etain's chamber was any indication, they must have
still been fairly primitive. Knowing that the level of a civilization could
often be judged by its weapons, he cautiously reached down and slid her
knife from its sheath. She didn't stir. He examined the dagger carefully, not
touching the blade with his fingers to keep the oils in his skin from damaging
it, and whistled softly.
It was bronze, leaf-bladed, inlaid with a repeating spiral pattern in silver
down its spine. The hilt was bound in braided silver wire, whose
irregularities indicated it had been extruded by hand. Faint, crescent-shaped
dents in the blade were probably the hammer-marks left from its forging.
Halvam's native culture had obviously been equivalent to bronze-age. How
had they been missed? Perhaps they had not. Not every explorer, or colonist
had the kind of integrity necessary to pass up a nearly perfect planet just
because it had one slight flaw... sentient inhabitants. It had been over a
hundred years since Halvam's colonization. By now, the native culture had
without doubt been irreparably damaged, if not altogether destroyed. Absently
he tested the blade against his thumb and hissed in surprise as it bit.
The damned thing was razor sharp! He knew bronze didn't hold an edge
well, so she must sharpen it frequently.
Etain stirred, opened her eyes and looked at her hand, a puzzled frown
creasing her forehead as she poked a finger at the ball of her thumb. After a
moment she looked up at him, eyelids drooping sleepily. He realized she had
been woken by his pain... as if she felt it herself. How did one survive with
that degree of empathy? If it were him, he would probably be completely
mad. Shaking his head, he showed her the slight crease where he had cut
himself.
"It's all right, it's just a scratch. Go back to sleep."
She stared at his thumb, her frown deepening, pushed herself up on one
elbow and reached out to touch the tip of her index finger to the slight
welling of red along the cut. Drawing her hand back, she studied his blood
intently for several moments. She sniffed it, then, oddly, touched it to her
tongue. He watched her, as puzzled by her actions as she obviously was by
his blood. Had she never seen blood before? It seemed impossible, for
someone with such extraordinary healing ability.
Slowly, she sat up, still staring at him. After a moment, she pointed at her
dagger and put her hand out. He gave it back to her, hilt first, so she
wouldn't think he might be attacking. She took it, looked down at her hand,
and before he could stop her, had nicked her own finger, then held her injury
next to his. Her blood was much darker than the bright crimson of his,
almost mahogany-colored. He understood immediately. She was comparing.
Until now she hadn't realized they were two different species. He could see
the knowledge come to her, lighting her face. She pointed at him, then at
herself, put her palms together, then abruptly separated them. He didn't
need to interpret, he knew exactly what she was asking. His estimation of her
intelligence rose. Having never been exposed to the idea of other sentient
species, she was bright enough to theorize it on her own.
"Yes. Exactly. We're not the same kind of being. In some ways, similar, yes,
but not the same. My people are not native to this world. Yours probably
are."
Etain nodded slowly, sucked the blood off her finger and wrapped her arms
around her knees, leaning her chin against them. He wished he knew what she
was thinking. He knew what he would be thinking, given reversed circumstances.
None of it was charitable. She didn't move for a long time, and finally he
realized that, unable to fight her need for sleep, she had drifted
off again. As she began to list to one side, he guided her down, pulled the
quilt over her, and sat back, restlessly wondering what the hell was taking
Will Riker so long. They should have located him hours ago... unless there
was some sort of problem with the ship. Then there was Seret Ng. She had
been fearful of retalitation, and she had been transported to a different
destination than his. He was afraid her fears might have been realized, but he
had no way of checking without access to his communicator.
###
Using the mirror installed behind his office door, Coran smiled and carefully
arranged the folds of his white mourning-robes, thinking that it was too bad
important folk didn't die more often. White was a good color for him. To his
relief, as Davan had promised, Seret Ng's death had been accepted as natural,
and her memorial was scheduled to begin in only a few minutes. He had
prepared a speech, praising her contributions to Halvam. Unfortunately he
could not praise her most important one. Without her engineering of the
carrier DNA, he would not have been able to rid Halvam of the Halflings so
neatly. Of course, they were not gone entirely, but since he had seen to it
that they would never reproduce, it was only a matter of time.
Turning, he looked out his window and read the anti-Federation slogan
phaser-burned into the surface of a neighboring building. The men Davan
had assigned to the task must have been hard at work. He had seen reports
of several such defacements over the past day or so. It was a shame to mar
the stonework, but it was easily cleaned, and he had to do something to
convince the Enterprise's security that there really was a terrorist threat.
They were not easily convinced. He had contemplated having Davan bomb a
building or two, but he hated to consider the expense of replacing them.
Perhaps instead he could have someone kill that damned Klingon. He had
virtually set up camp near the spot where they had found Picard's
communicator, and no amount of assurances from either Davan or himself
would move him. Riker had proved equally intractable, refusing to order his
man away from the scene, citing some obscure Klingon ritual he was allowing
the man to observe.
Thinking about Picard's disappearence disturbed him. There was something
altogether too convenient about it. Yet, Davan was his brother, and had
proven himself trustworthy. What possible reason could Davan have for
wishing to countermand his orders, if indeed he had? On the other hand, what
else could explain it? Picard was obviously not aboard his ship, Davan might
or might not have him. If he didn't, then where was he? People didn't just
disappear; at least, not those whose disappearences he had not arranged himself.
Before they had discovered the Halflings, people had occasionally disappeared,
only to reappear weeks later with strange tales of "little people".
Classic hallucinations, it had been thought, until someone had stumbled
across the City.
He stiffened. The City... gods, he hadn't thought about it in years! Could
Picard have somehow found it? Was that where he was hiding? No, it didn't
make sense. He had disappeared miles from the underground metropolis. So
much for that idea. He came back to the annoying possibility that Davan had
something to do with it. Perhaps one of Davan's underlings could be
persuaded to talk. If credits didn't work, there was always the possibility
that one of them had a family he wished to protect. Coran knew a great deal
about persuasion. A hurrying figure in white crossed the pavement outside
and he realized it was time to go. He glanced one last time in the mirror
before leaving his office to deliver Seret Ng's memoriam, savoring the irony
of the situation.
###
Picard glanced over at Etain and found her staring at one of the candles in an
unfocused manner. He wondered what she was thinking. She sighed suddenly and
looked down at her hands with an expression of ineffable sadness.
"Can you tell me what's wrong?" he asked gently.
She looked up, her eyes shadowed, memory-haunted. After a moment she shook
her head, lifting her hands in her all-too-familiar gesture of negation. He
sighed. Their inability to really communicate was growing increasingly
irritating. He realized, suddenly, that he had never attempted to find the
answer to the question that had most disturbed him, the question that had
precipitated his current predicament.
"Etain?"
She looked up, questioningly.
"Where are the others? Your parents, the other adults?"
For a moment she seemed frozen, not even a breath disturbed her utter
motionlessness. Finally, he heard a harsh intake of air, saw her face fill
with pain before she lifted her hands as if to shield herself from him. For
several long moments she sat like that, only the slight tremor of her shoulders
betrayed her tears. Finally, she took a deep breath, and lowered her hands.
The totality of loss in her expression gave him the answer to his question
more eloquently than any spoken sentence could have.
"They are dead? All of them?" he asked incredulously.
She nodded, slowly.
"How?" he asked, forgetting she had no way to tell him.
Her fists clenched, and the gaze that met his burned with rage, hate, and...
accusation? Dark color suffused her face.
He had never seen her angry before, and was taken aback, both by the depth of
her fury, and the accusation he sensed. For the first time in her presence he
was afraid. This was a being who felt she had reason to kill, perhaps not him,
but someone.
"Etain... what is it?"
A visible shudder went through her, and she tore her gaze away from his, her
eyes tightly closed, her breath coming fast and shallow, as if she were
physically exerting herself. When she opened them again, her gaze was
blank, almost without intelligence. She stood up abruptly and he edged
warily away from her. To his relief she stood for a moment, staring down at
him, then shook her head violently, leapt for the access-way, and was gone.
He stared after her, scowling, wondering what could have triggered her
reaction. For just a moment he had actually expected her to become
physically violent, the pain and anger in her had been almost tangible. Why?
Because he had asked about the others? What reason could she have for such
an extreme response? Unless... she saw him not as himself, but as one of the
colonists. He felt a cold tension in his midsection. Someone among the
colonists had gone so far as to surgically mute the children, could they have
been ruthless enough to have killed the adults? He didn't want to consider
the possibility, but what else could have provoked such rage? He rubbed the
bridge of his nose with both hands, pressing away the headache that
threatened, and hoped fervently that he was wrong.
###
Etain kneeled a little way from her nest, beating the hard-packed floor of the
passage with her fists, ripping her nails as she clawed at the dirt, scraping
her fingers and palms against the rocks and rough soil. It had taken every bit
of control she had not to do to him what she did to the ground. He was not
guilty, she could not punish him for another's deed, but Goddess, how she
had wanted to! She had not known until that instant that the blood of the
battle-fury ran in her veins. She had thought the legendary madness had
been tamed by the years and Sleeps since they had left First Home, and by
joining with the Shi. Only now did she find it still boiled, hot and strong
and wild, beneath her own skin.
It frightened her, and she pushed it away frantically with each blow against
the earth until finally, the last of it drained away and she was left crouching
in the darkness, panting like an animal, tears and sweat dripping off her face
to mingle with the blood on her hands... her own blood, thank the Old Ones,
not his. After long minutes had passed, she sat back on her heels and wiped
her face with the back of one hand. She could smell the anger on herself, the
fear, the instinctive violence. It stank. She stank. She gagged, and
shuddered wanting only to rid herself of the stench.
She stood up and took a step toward her nest, then stopped. Something inside
her warned her, not there, not yet. It was too soon, her anger still too
close to the surface. Slowly she turned and followed the tunnels down,
toward the sanctuary of the dead. They would not mind her state, and the
hot-spring there would both cleanse and ease her. Later, when she was fully
sure of her control, she would return to the nest, though she knew she could
never explain to Picard what had happened, or why.
For a moment she thought of using the mind-touch, as she had that once, when he
had needed to understand that she was healing him; but she discarded the idea
almost immediately. That had been too close, too disturbingly... invasive, to
touch another's mind so directly. She felt as if she had left a piece of
herself there, and did not want to risk further loss.
She walked slowly, trying to leach off the last of her anger before she reached
Dhara. It seemed inappropriate to carry it there, no matter that the cause of
it was her desire to avenge the dead... and the living. It seemed odd to be
going there again so soon, it had been a long time since she had been there at
all, now twice in only a few days. Perhaps that was why her reaction to
Picard's question had been so extreme. The memory of death had been stirred
anew by her last visit. She determined this time she would not take away
memories to overwhelm her later. She would only remember the times before the
Dying.
###
Steam rose in white clouds, the air held the slightly eggy scent she remembered
from the past. It brought back memories of laughter, splashing, dunking,
children and adults relaxing in the heat. Sitting on a ledge was a clay jar,
its surface intricate in black and white interlace. Smiling, Etain reached
over and worked its cork stopper loose. Even after so long, the herbs inside
the jar were still fragrant, recalling sunlight and spring, the times before
her first Sleep when she had gone gathering. She sprinkled a handful of loose
herbs into the water and replaced the stopper in the jar, then took off her
skirt and vest, dropping them into the steaming pool. No doubt they stank as
badly as she did. She stood for a moment, deliberately blocking out newer
memories and then stepped into the water.
It was hotter than she remembered, she had to immerse herself a little at a
time to stand the heat. Perhaps it was just that she had become used to
washing with the cold water available in her nest. She sat down, finally, and
let the heat enclose her, leaning back with her head against the ledge which
held the herb-pot. She drifted, half-dreaming, caught in a fantasy that all
was as it had once been, that she was a child, without the awareness of death,
or pain, or hatred.
It was a pleasant dream while it lasted, unfortunately the heat of the steam
made her drowsy, and decided she had best get out before she fell asleep and
drowned. She rinsed her clothing and wrung it damp-dry before putting it
back on, and finger-combed her hair as best she could before braiding it. She
felt like an entirely different person than the she had earlier. It was
something of a revelation, that remembering did not have to be painful.
As she walked away from the baths, past the houses which held the dead, a
little of her good mood trailed away. It was difficult to maintain with so
many bad memories clamoring for attention. She stopped and stood for a
moment, gazing at the rath which had once been her home, knowing it was
empty now, even of dead, as her family had been elsewhere when the
sickness came. Slowly she walked toward it, and ducked under the low lintel
of the doorway.
Dust covered everything, once-bright coverings of the pallets now muted, even
thread-bare in places from the predations of the moths and mice which inhabited
the city. On the table lay the desiccated remains of their last meal
together... flat, coarse-textured nutbread, a clay pot containing the
crystallized residue of honey, the shriveled brown remains of apples, one
showed signs of having been digger-gnawed. The shrine still held its statues,
the Three, and the Horned One. They were dust-covered as well. She wondered
if that was disrespectful, then decided if they wished to be clean, they would
be.
Her father's flute lay on the table as well, its wooden surface dulled by
neglect. She picked it up and carefully blew it clean, then lifted it to her
lips. A discordant tone and a sifting of dust emerged. She laughed at the
thought of how she must look, and blew into it again, clearing the last of the
fine dust from it, then played a rill of notes. The sound was hollow and
faintly eerie, yet at the same time sweet. It suited her mood, and she left
the house playing haltingly, she had never been very good with it, and it had
been years since she had even thought of playing, but the sense of familiarity
it gave her was soothing.
###
At first Picard thought he was imagining the soft, haunting sound that
gradually insinuated itself into his awareness. He had become so used to the
silence that even the soft trickle of water from the garderobe and the sputter
and hiss of candle-flames were audible. For a few seconds he suspected that
his mind was making up for the lack of stimuli by supplying a sound, but it
was not a familiar song, or instrument. It was not the sound of the flute he
knew, and it had a wider range than an ocarina. He listened intently, puzzled
by the sound, wondering what, and more importantly, who had produced it.
The tune was aimless, wandering, with no particular tempo or theme, as if
whoever produced it had no song in mind, just sound; like a child practicing
scales, but with more variation.
It grew progressively louder, presumably closer, then stopped suddenly. The
quiet seemed a thousand times more intense than it had before. He hadn't
realized how much he missed sound. He had been quite aware of missing
other stimuli, books, conversation, access to music, the day-to-day details of
the ship, but he had not been conscious of how much he missed the
continuous little hums, chirps and other background noises of the Enterprise.
The realization helped explain why he found himself increasingly irritable,
feeling virtually a prisoner. He was experiencing a mild form of sensory
deprivation. He wondered briefly how Etain stood it, but perhaps she had no
experience with anything else. Coming from a world of intense sensory
input, he was having difficulties with the lack thereof. He flexed his
shoulders, his body stiff and aching from disuse. He had never dealt well
with forced inactivity. For the thousandth time he wondered what the hell
was taking so long. Riker should have located him by now.
Without warning Etain slid over the low sill of the outer access into the room.
He tensed momentarily, wondering if her previous mood was still on her. A
moment's study told him it was not. Something was different, not just her
expression, though that was far more amicable than before, it was something
almost tangible, physical. Perhaps it was simply that she seemed somehow
lighter, less... burdened. The change was very noticeable. She held a long
slender object in one hand, and her hair and clothing appeared damp. She
stood for a moment, uncertainly, then resolutely advanced to where he was
and sat down across from him, holding out her hands, palm up, her
expression apologetic. She smelled of... what? Flowers? No, but the scent
was fresh, green, it made him think of the fields and vineyards he had played
in as a child. He had never noticed her scent before. He shook his head, not
accepting her apology.
"There is nothing for you to apologize for, but I am sorry, if I stirred
painful memories."
She nodded minutely, and shrugged, letting her hands fall to her knees,
attracting his attention to the object she had carried, now lying in her lap.
It was a slim wooden cylinder, intricately carved, with a series of small holes
drilled in it. He smiled, the mystery was solved.
"That was you playing, earlier?"
She nodded, a slightly wistful smile on her face.
"It has a lovely sound."
She nodded again.
"Is it yours?"
She shook her head, touched her chest, then hesitated, obviously unsure how
to continue. After a moment she sighed and shrugged again. He controlled
the urge to sigh as well. Their attempts at communication often ended that
way, with her unable to find a way to express an idea, and him having no
way to prompt her.
After a moment she brightened, touched her chest again, then held her arms
as if cradling a child.
"It belonged to your mother?" he queried.
She scowled and shook her head, making the sign they had agreed on for
'close', the thumb and forefinger held marginally apart, then repeated the
motions, this time touching him at the end of the sequence. He thought for a
moment. The only difference had been her inclusion of him. Since he knew
his first guess had been close to the correct meaning, and he was obviously
not the owner of the flute, the difference seemed to be gender. He tried again.
"Your father?"
She grinned, nodding.
He found himself smiling back, then he sobered, remembering her reaction to
his question about her parents. "Someday I hope you can tell me about
them."
Her gaze fell, but she nodded. After a moment she stood up and went to the
shelf where she kept their food, her expression grave. She sighed and turned
away, touched her chest and pointed up.
"You don't have to do that, you know," he said, feeling vaguely guilty. The
last time she had gone above she had returned in a state of extreme agitation.
He knew his presence was causing her to go for food more often than she
would ordinarily.
He didn't know where she got their provisions, but he had the uneasy feeling
that she was stealing it. She obviously hadn't the means to purchase it, and
he was fairly certain she wasn't getting the food from any of the social
service organizations which existed to help the indigent. She was probably
afraid to.
She shifted her shoulders back stiffly and lifted an eyebrow at him in an
uncanny imitation of one of his own expressions. Her meaning was quite
clear. Of course she had to feed him. He chuckled, acknowledging the
mimicry.
"That's quite good, you know."
She grinned, then repeated her earlier gestures. He nodded.
"If you feel you must, but be careful."
She acknowledged his admonition with a short nod, then ducked out of the
nest again, leaving him alone once more, in the quiet. A moment later the
sound of the flute drifted back, gradually fading as she gained more distance.
He felt slightly disappointed when the sound dwindled away to nothing. It
had been a pleasant distraction from the silence. He picked up her book and
began, with little enthusiasm, to peruse it for the fourth or fifth time.
###
Etain felt almost happy as she traveled toward the surface, closer to being
happy than she had been in a long time. Somehow, the spasm of rage that
had filled her and drained away had taken with it years of pain. Things could
never be the same, but they were not so bad now. She thought of the little
ones, and smiled, instead of feeling her eyes fill with tears. Perhaps they
would be all right, be released from whatever magic held them captive,
children, instead of the young men and women they were meant to be. For
the first time since she could remember, she had hope.
In the beginning, when Picard had said he would help, she had not believed
him; but she could sense, and now acknowledge, that he was a man who kept
his word. For some reason, she found herself remembering the small, amber-
skinned, dark-haired woman who had aided her, so long ago. She had confused
Etain terribly, her emotions a mass of contradictions... she seemed to hate
the Rua'shi, yet had helped Etain escape the Darkmind's lair. It had made no
sense to her, it still did not, but she had accepted the help gratefully.
She thought back to that night. It had been only a day since they had stolen
her voice, and she still had been weak, and in pain when the woman had
come, furtive and strange, to hurry her from her bed and into the darkness.
For a moment the sadness returned. If only the woman had been able to free
the others as well! But then, if she had, the Darkmind would have continued
to hunt for them, and eventually found them. One, he had not missed. All,
he would have. Shaking off that thought, she lifted the flute and began to
play again.
###
Once more she donned the hated gray smock, and put up her hair. To ease
the discomfort she felt in those clothes, she pocketed her father's flute and
fingered it, out of sight, for reassurance. She knew she could not go back to
the dormitory kitchen so soon, but there was another place not far, where
Tall-Ones' gathered to eat and socialize. She had foraged there many times.
There were others, not Kin, who foraged there as well, and one of the kitchen
helpers made it a habit to leave small bundles of food outside the back door
for whomever needed it.
Emerging from the tunnels, she found it bright day Above. That made her
task more difficult, but she had learned that if she walked carefully and did
not hurry, she would be taken for one of the children ferrying a message.
Feeling a prickle of apprehension between her shoulderblades, and an
anxious twisting in her stomach, she set off, imitating the grounded, almost
shuffling gait of her kin.
None of the Tall-Ones who walked the street glanced twice at her as she
traversed the hard-surfaced pavement, eyes carefully downcast. That was
just as well, for a second glance might have revealed her bare feet, or her
height, betraying her. As it was, she reached the building she wanted
without incident. Waiting a moment to watch for others, she cautiously
slipped around to the back of the building.
No one was in sight, but the steps held several bundles, each carefully
wrapped in the strange, clear material she had come to expect. She stooped
to study the bundles, trying to decide which would be the most useful. One
contained some sort of stew, another some unfamiliar pink stuff, a third
several small rolls and fruit. She reached for that one and had just taken
hold of it when a loud voice spoke from behind her.
"Hey, you!"
She straightened with a gasp, the package still in her hand. There was a man
at the entrance to the alleyway; frighteningly tall, heavily muscled, wearing
the blue-black uniform of the Darkmind's minions. He started forward,
scowling.
"What are you doing here? What's that you have? Why aren't you at the
dormitory?"
Etain glanced around agitatedly, trying to find a way out, but nothing
presented itself. The man stood between her and the only way out, at her
back was the door to the kitchen, which contained more Tall-ones who
would, no doubt, aid in her capture. Despite that, she retreated as he
approached, until her back was against the door. He was close now, she
could see that he was fair-haired, young, and hard-looking. He studied her
with a vaguely puzzled expression, his glance taking in her bare feet and the
package in her hand.
"Here, now, what are you doing?" he repeated loudly, as if she were deaf, not
mute.
She shook her head, then almost fell as the door behind her opened. She felt
large hands on her shoulders, and was surprised when she realized they
steadied her, and did not detain her. She glanced back, saw the familiar gray-
brown hair and worn, pleasant features of the woman who left the packages.
Etain relaxed slightly, at least she wouldn't accuse her of stealing. The
woman nodded at her reassuringly, then lifted her gaze angrily to the
younger man.
"Leave the child alone! She's just hungry. If I've no quarrel with her, you
shouldn't either."
The blonde man's expression turned belligerent. "She should be at work, or
in the dormitory. She's not supposed to be roaming around doing nothing."
"What, hasn't she a life of her own? Don't be so damned stiff man, she's not
hurting anyone. Why don't you come inside, have something to eat, and
forget about her?"
The young guard hesitated, indecisive. Etain felt a slight push and saw the
woman nod toward the alley's entrance. Cautiously she took a step away
from her protector's bulk. The guard didn't move. She sidled a few steps
more, staying as far away from him as she could. Still he did not move.
Heartened, she began to edge past him, when suddenly his arm shot out and
she was caught in his grip and yanked close to him.
"Don't let me catch you here ag..." his voice trailed off in surprise as he
stared down at her, and then he deliberately ran his hand across her chest.
His brows drew down in consternation as his hand encountered the unmistakable
softness of small, but definitely present breasts.
"What the hell!" He exclaimed harshly. "Who are you... what are you?"
"Stop that!" the portly woman snapped angrily, advancing on them with her
fists clenched menacingly. She was nearly as tall as the guard, and definitely
outweighed him. He took a step back, his grip on Etain loosening. Frantic,
she tore herself from his grasp and dashed for freedom, but lost her footing
on the dirt which had accumulated in the alley and went down on hands and
knees, skinning them painfully. She scrambled to her feet and glanced back.
The guard was struggling with the woman, trying to chase Etain, but unable
to free himself from the bear-hug in which he was entrapped.
"Go, child, go on!" the woman called.
Etain needed no second prompting. She ran.
Something fell from her pocket, and bounced on the ground with a light,
hollow sound. She skidded to a stop, realizing what it had been, the flute.
Without thinking she stooped and groped for it, found it, and looked back.
The young guardsman a scant two yards from her, and in seconds, he had
her, hands tight around her upper arms as he shook her hard enough to
loosen her hair from its binding to spill down around her shoulders.
"You're no halfling! What the hell are you?"
She struggled in his grasp, trying to pull free, but he was far larger and
stronger than she. He let go of her with one hand, the other tightening
painfully as he drew back his hand. She closed her eyes and turned her face,
trying to avoid the blow. Strangely, it never came, and his grip on her arm
went suddenly slack as he crumpled to the ground. Startled, she opened her
eyes to find her benefactress standing over the man, a large, flat metal object
in her hand, and an expression of extreme satisfaction on her face. She
chuckled, seemingly at the bewildered expression on Etain's face.
"He'll not be manhandling you again any time soon. Go on, get out of here
before he wakes up."
Etain nodded, and backed away, then stopped. How to thank her? There
was no reason for her to have helped, yet she had. For the second time lately,
her surety that all Tall-ones were evil had been shaken. Perhaps she had been
wrong. She put her hand to her throat, and shook her head, then put her
palms together and ducked her head over them, as she had seen the little-
ones do when expressing gratitude. The woman smiled.
"You're welcome. Now, get."
Etain got.
###
Once safely back in the tunnels, Etain realized with surprise that through the
entire episode, she had unconsciously managed to hang onto the packet of food.
The rolls were slightly flattened, and the fruit a little bruised, but both
were still edible. Unfortunately the flute had sustained more abuse, the old,
dry wood had split along the spine, damaging it irreparably. Pragmatically,
she decided better it than her, and headed back toward her c_s where Picard
waited.
###
Picard looked up as Etain came in, and catching her pained expression, he
studied her more closely as she limped over to the table and set down her
bag. Her hair was wild, her knees and hands were stained dark, and looked
skinned. He sat up, instantly concerned.
"What happened?" he demanded, before remembering she could not tell him.
A little exasperated, he rephrased. "Did something happen?"
She nodded, with a sigh, and rubbed at her arms, then picked up a bowl,
crossed to the garderobe entrance and disappeared. She emerged a moment
later carrying the bow, filled with water, and a scrap of cloth. Sitting down
across from him, she began to carefully clean her skinned knees. Up close he
could see that both her upper-arms were encircled by hand-width bands of
purpling bruises. He frowned, suspecting the cause.
"Someone almost caught you, didn't they?"
She nodded, not looking at him, concentrating on picking small bits of gravel
out of her knee.
"Have you been stealing food for me?" he asked quietly.
She looked up and nodded, obviously surprised that he needed to ask. He
sighed.
"I would rather you didn't."
She frowned, shaking her head, and touched her chest, then lifted her hands as
if to say "what else can I do?" A trickle of rust-colored water ran down her
arm from her hand when she raised it. She looked annoyed and wiped it off
with the cloth. He leaned forward and took one of her hands in his,
inspecting the damage, and found that along with the fresh scrapes and cuts on
the heel of her hand, slightly older scratches marred her palm, and her nails
were raggedly torn. He could tell those injuries were older, for her nails
and the older scratches were cleaner. Wondering how she had gotten the
other scrapes, he held out his hand for the cloth. She eyed him dubiously,
then with some reluctance gave it to him and he began to clean the abrasions
for her.
"There are places you can go, to get food, that don't involve stealing." he
said gently, trying not to sound as if he were reprimanding her.
She shook her head.
"Yes, really. You just need to know where to go."
She shook her head again, more vehemently and pointed up with her free
hand, then touched the bruises on her arm, and the scrapes on her hand. He
understood that she felt she would be caught if she went somewhere openly.
Perhaps she was right. It was her world, she knew it better than he could.
"I suppose that's true." he acknowledged, reluctantly. "I'm sorry you were
hurt."
She shrugged, her usual response to any expression of concern on his part.
He frowned.
"No, it is not alright! Not at all! I am endangering you. I've got to get
out of here! Will you take me above, where I can contact my ship, and find
some way to correct this situation? It's intolerable!"
She pulled away, startled by his sudden vehemence, and winced as his
fingers skimmed her injured palm. She shook her head forcefully in absolute
refusal of his request.
"Why?" he demanded.
For answer she pulled her knife from its sheath and brandished it at an
imaginary foe, holding her other arm before her face defensively, then she
pointed to his ankle.
He sighed. "Yes, I know it's dangerous, and I realize I'm not particularly
mobile, but I can't stay here! There must be something wrong, since my
people haven't found me yet. I need to get back!" He saw the stubborn set of
her chin and changed his approach, softening his manner. "I also can do
nothing to help you or the others until I return to my ship. Once there, I can
begin the work needed to free them, and you."
His change of tactic almost worked. He saw the muscles in her jaw relax, she
looked hesitant for a moment, then the tension returned and she shook her
head again, pointing once more to his ankle, and holding up three fingers.
"Three what?"
Making a circle of her fingers, she passed them in an arc above her head. He
scowled.
"Three days? Too long." he insisted.
She shrugged, wrapped her arms around her knees and looked away.
He sighed. Obviously she wasn't going to give in on the subject. She was
every bit as stubborn as Beverly Crusher. He gave her a moment, then held
out his hand again.
"I wasn't finished with that. Give it back."
She hesitated, then stuck her hand out gracelessly and let him finish, but
refused to look at him. He wondered what he'd said wrong this time.
###
Picard watched Etain sharpen her knife with growing irritation. He was bored,
sick of hiding, tired of being in pain, and jealous of her ability to come
and go as she pleased. On top of that, he was growing seriously worried
about his ship. It was taking too long, something was obviously wrong.
Altogether, he was not in a good mood, the mixture of annoyances and worry
combined into a roiling simmer or frustration. Needing some sort of outlet,
he swore. Etain jumped, startled. He found her reaction was obscurely
satisfying. He favored her with one of his patented icy stares. She seemed to
sway an inch or two farther away, her eyes widening.
"Must you make that noise?" he enquired frostily.
She looked down at the knife and whetstone, shook her head, and set the stone
down. Carefully she cleaned the blade and replaced it in its sheath. For
a moment she seemed indecisive, then she picked up the bowl which held her
meager provisions and advanced on him, holding it out, looking for all the
world like some acolyte offering sacrifice.
"No, thank you," he snapped, before she got within reach.
She stopped, and turned away, setting the bowl back on the flat sheet of metal
that served as a table. Again, she seemed at a loss, then brightened, and
picked up her one book, turning to bring it to him.
"I don't want that, either. What I want is out of here!"
She dropped the book; her face paled, then flushed, and her gaze lowered,
then lifted hesitantly. He saw the pain there and winced. He was being petty,
and she didn't deserve it. She had done nothing but try to help. Belatedly,
he tried to apologise.
"I'm sorry... I'm not used to inactivity. I..."
She shook her head violently, and waved a hand, negating his words. Quickly
she touched two fingers to her chest, then pointed up, her way of saying she
was going above. Before he could respond, she had gone. He swore, more
meaningfully this time. His actions had been uncalled for, and he felt worse,
not better, for indulging his bad disposition. Now she was gone again, above.
Every time she went above, she returned in a state of emotional agitation, and
so far had been unable to make him understand why. It had something to do with
the others of her kind, but not, as he had first thought, with their
enslavement. That seemed to make little difference to her. It was something
else, something to do with their size, as far as he could ascertain. In any
case, he had hurt her.
Feeling more than a little ashamed of himself, he maneuvered over to where she
had dropped her book and retrieved it. Wrapping it carefully in its cloth, he
replaced it in its stone cubbyhole, noting a smaller cloth-wrapped parcel
tucked into a corner of the same hiding place. He almost took it out to look
at it, in hopes that it was another book, but didn't. He had no right to pry
into her belongings, especially not now. He only hoped he had not
irretrievably shattered the fragile trust she had bestowed on him.
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 5
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:43:37 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER FIVE
Etain sat at the juncture of two tunnels, arms wrapped around her knees as if
to ward off a chill, though the temperature was no lower than normal. She
didn't understand why he had behaved as he had, but the truth behind his
statement had left no room for doubt. He did want out. Out, and up, not just
Above, but to his... ship. The star-ship that he spoke of in tones she would
have reserved for a parent, or a mate. Worse, she didn't understand why she
did not want him to go just as much as he seemed to want it.
She had not wanted to help him in the first place, now she did not want him
to go. It had been so long, since she had been gifted with another human
presence. It was hard, to let him go, even if he was a Tall-One. Odd, how she
thought of him as human, when he was not. His blood, his skin, his ears, his
mind... all told her he was Other. She would not have thought it possible,
just days before, that she would ever consider a Tall-One fully human. She had
never understood why they seemed so different. Now she knew that they
were different, not just in outlook, but physically, in the same way that she
was different from the small, blind diggers she found in the deepest tunnels.
But Picard was human, nonetheless.
Finally, she came to a decision, on her own, without consulting her
grandmother, or the Lady. He had to go. Her frequent visits to the kitchens
were becoming dangerous. Soon, someone would see her, despite her
precautions, and she would be caught. Left to herself, she could forage food
elsewhere. But how? Despite her best efforts, he could not walk yet, and if
he ventured above the Darkmind's servants might find and kill him. That meant
she had to find someone who would shield him. Easier thought than
accomplished. She scowled, wondering how she was supposed to find such
help. Then it occurred to her that he had said several times that his... crew
would be looking for him. If so, perhaps she could find one of them. But that
entailed going looking for them; a task more dangerous than her trips to the
kitchens, since it meant exposing herself to even more Tall-Ones.
Further reflection brought another memory. He had also spoken of a device, a
small metal object, with which he could contact his friends. It had been lost
in his fight with the Darkmind's servants. If she could locate it, he could
call for help. She had not gone to look for it then, because they had been
there, looking for him. But now, if she could find it, he could return safely
to his proper place. Away from her... but then, that was just as well. It was
dangerous to allow others a place in one's life. Painful. Had he not just
proven that to her yet again?
She stood, and took the left-hand passage, the one that led upward,
eventually coming to the small branch that was too low-ceilinged to allow
walking, the one she had used the night she had brought Picard below.
Following it to its end, she paused cautiously and extended her awareness
above, to see if it was safe to venture out. Sensing none of the Darkmind's
servants about, she reached to open the screen which sheilded the passage
entryway, and stopped suddenly.
There was something... something odd above. A thing she had never sensed
before. Something large, and... very strange. For a moment she had thought
it an animal, but its thought-patterns were too orderly, almost like a human's,
though she could not read them easily.
Etain tried harder to access the nature of the being, frowning fiercely in
concentration, sending probes first one way, then another, until finally, like
water finding a weak spot in a child's mud dam, she found a way in. A
trickle at first, then a flood. She hastily cut off the flow of information,
shaking her head at the sheer power of it. The strength of emotions this being
held pent within itself was astonishing, the dark, hot undertones of wished-
for violence made her shudder. But for all its un-human strangeness, two
things were clear. This was no Darkmind. For all its fierceness, it held that
part of itself in tight control. And it knew Picard. Not as prey, but as
leader. She no longer needed to find the metal device, she had found something
far better. Drawing a deep breath, she opened the gate.
###
Worf sat immobile, crouched on haunches that had become slightly numb
from too long without movement. He stared at the scuffed, crumbling
ground where he had found Picard's communicator, and cursed himself. He
was responsible for the captain's safety, and he had failed to carry out his
duty. He had known that the Captain seemed disturbed, but had not
watched, not questioned, assuming the disturbance to be some inner, human
thing. He should have known better. Now the Captain was gone, perhaps
dead, perhaps not, but Worf had no way of knowing which. For once he
would have welcomed the silly Counselor, she would be able to tell at least
that much; but he had only Riker's guess that Coran Delvekia was lying about
the supposed terrorists. So he waited, where the captain had last been traced
by the combadge monitor, as he should. He would wait there, without food
or water, until he received understanding of what to do next.
A sound jerked his head up and he tensed, listening for the slight stone-
against-stone noise he had heard to be repeated. No sound came. He sighed,
and turned his gaze once more toward the earth. As he had hoped, once he had
stilled another sound came. Not the stone sound, but the subtle rustle of bare
feet on dry grasses, the tiny whistle of half-caught breaths. Small, human...
or human-like, female... he could smell her, sense her... he flexed the
muscles in his legs, ready to spring. She came closer, then stopped, almost as
if waiting. He waited as well until he could wait no more. With a growl, he
moved, and caught her wrist as she gasped, but did not move.
He looked at his hand, which covered almost all of her forearm, at her long
russet hair, at her oddly familiar features, and slowly released her. She
still did not move, save to rub at the welts his grip had left on her arm. He
looked in her eyes, and her gaze did not waver. He saw astonishment in her,
and fear, and recognised the effort it took her not to run. It was one of the
little ones, but one who had never seen a Klingon before, one a little older,
a little more individual than the others.
He stepped back a few paces, and she seemed to relax slightly, her breath
coming a little more deeply. He nodded.
"You wish something?" he asked curtly, wondering what she was doing out
in the middle of nowhere... and more importantly, where she had come from.
She nodded.
"What?"
She drew a deep breath and stepped closer to him, reaching out to point to,
but not touch, his combadge with a finger that shook slightly. He looked
from it to her, puzzled.
"You wish to have my combadge?"
She sagged a little, and shook her head. After a moment, she pointed to the
ground, then again to his communicator. He was even more puzzled.
"You wish me to place my communicator on the ground?"
She shook her head strongly, and scowled, obviously trying to find a way to
communicate her meaning. He waited patiently. Usually the little ones
eventually found the means to express themselves. After two half-hearted
attempts, she finally pulled at his sleeve, and pointed toward the edge of the
canal. He allowed her to guide him to the edge, and watched as she lowered
herself over the side where the drop was the shallowest and then stand there
looking expectantly up at him. He frowned. She obviously intended him to
follow. He crossed his arms on his chest and planted his feet.
"Why should I accompany you?"
She rolled her eyes, and looked disgusted. After a moment she touched her
throat, sighed, and held her splayed hands out in front of her, shaking them
in obvious frustation. Then suddenly, her face lit. She had obviously had an
idea. Grabbing a small stick from the ground, she swept her hair back in a
tight knot and stuck the stick through it to hold it in place. Then she turned
toward him with her face set and grim, turned an icy, arch-browed gaze on
him, and deliberately, took hold of the bottom edge of her vest and yanked it
down an inch.
The impersonation was unmistakable. He stared at her in shock.
"Captain Picard?" he managed to ask.
The imperious look disappeared, replaced by a triumphant grin as she
nodded, the motion sending her hair flying loose from its makeshift binding.
He crouched and jumped, landing close enough beside her to startle her into
backing up, against the channel wall. Worf moved out of her space, trying to
stay in control, and not to intimidate her
"He is alive, he is well?" he demanded with all the civility he could manage.
She nodded, then bent to touch her leg and make a face, as if in pain. Since
she had not exhibited any sign of pain before, he took that as answer to his
second question. The captain's leg was injured in some way.
"I understand. Where is he?"
She motioned for him to follow and walked along the channel floor for about
two meters, then stopped. Carefully she pushed on one edge of a large
boulder there, and it moved, with the distinctive stone-on-stone sound that
had alerted him earlier; swinging open to reveal a narrow opening behind it.
She pointed.
"He is in there?"
She nodded, and made a sweeping motion, as if to indicate distance. Worf
ducked and looked into the opening, realizing it was the entrance to a
passageway. He gauged the width of the opening, and decided he could pass
through, barely. He looked back at the woman.
"Does the passage narrow?"
She shook her head, and put her palms together, then separated them.
"It widens?" he guessed.
She nodded. He reached up and touched his combadge.
"Worf to Commander Riker."
The reply was almost instantaneous. "Riker here." The commander's voice
held the sharpness of strain. Worf understood that. The young woman was
staring at his chest, her expression baffled, apparently startled by the voice
without a source.
"I believe I have had a... revelation, Commander." Worf knew that Riker
would understand. They had agreed not to speak openly, since they
suspected Halvam's Security Forces of having had a hand in the Captain's
disappearence. He heard the commander's sharply drawn breath, then a
moment later he acknowleged Worf's words.
"I see. Are you well?"
"I am well, but I have been in the dark, and I may have difficulty walking."
"I... understand. I will send a team with the necessary equipment to your
current coordinates."
"Thank you, sir. Worf out."
He looked back at his guide, found her still staring curiously at his combadge.
Considering her reaction to the communicator, he thought it prudent to warn
her about the transporter.
"Others will be arriving in a few moments. They are here to help. You need
not fear them. Will you guide us after they come?"
She lifted her gaze to his, searching his face with her eyes. Slowly she
nodded, then dropped to her knees and settled back, as if to wait there. He
saw no reason for her not to wait where she pleased, and crouched down to
her level.
"You have courage. That is good."
She dropped her eyes with a human child's shyness, and shrugged, then the
transporter's chiming tones began and her gaze ranged past him, to widen in
awe. Worf saw her make a peculiar motion with one hand, and edge into the
shadow of the passage as he turned to meet his crewmates.
###
Etain watched nothing solidify into something, and become five men. She gaped
like an idiot, and involuntarily made the sign against evil, something she had
not done since she was a child. Once they had fully formed, the tallest of
them, a dark-bearded man nearly as tall as the Fierce-one, whose only analog
in her knowledge lay in ancient tales of trolls and spirits, stepped forward
and began to speak with her companion in quiet, clipped tones.
All were clothed as Picard, though in differing colors. Two of the newcomers
wore gold the color of old leaves, the same color the Fierce-one wore. Two
wore night-sky-blue, and carried between them a strange sled-shaped object
which seemed to float, as they appeared to bear none of its weight. The tall,
bearded one wore crimson, like Picard. She wondered what the colors
signified, if anything. She scanned them quickly, and to her relief found no
animosity there, only anxiety, and flaring hope.
After a moment, the bearded-one turned his scrutiny to her. He studied her for
several moments, too long, it felt to her. One eyebrow lifted in a way very
unlike Picard's; though the action was the same, the intent was not.
Something about this expression made her slightly uncomfortable. The smile
which curved the man's mouth did little to erase her discomfort as he
extended his hand, but his voice was even and pleasant when he spoke, and
his words to the point.
"I'm Commander Riker. I understand you know where the Captain is?"
She nodded, and briefly touched her fingers to his in greeting, wishing they
would hurry up and let her take them to Picard. She had been in the open far
too long for comfort, and a knot of fearful anticipation had begun to writhe
and coil in her stomach. Impatiently, she gestured for them to follow her.
The bearded-one, Riker, turned to his companions.
"The stretcher won't fit. Worf and I will go down and see if we can bring him
up without it. Wait here, stay alert, and if you haven't heard from us in
fifteen minutes, come in after us... armed."
Etain bristled. Armed? Did they think she led them into a trap? It was they
who endangered her, not the other way. She seethed for a moment before she
realized that unlike herself, they had no way of knowing her sincerity. They
were merely cautious, as she would be in their place. She let the anger flow
away and started down the tunnel, trusting them to follow.
Sudden light filled her eyes and she winced from its brilliance, turning to
find its source. The one called Riker held a small sun in his hand, the glow
too bright for her to look at directly. He turned it away from her, and she
could see the light emanated from a small box.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."
The Fierce-one appeared to understand her reaction better. From behind
Riker his low, resonant voice filled the corridor.
"It is a mechanical device, a... cold torch."
She nodded. Like the globes near the city, though much brighter. A helpful
device for those unused to the dark. Turning back, she resumed the lead.
###
Picard heard them long before he saw them. They made far more noise in the
passage than Etain ever did. The low register of one of the two male voices
he heard was so familiar that he never doubted the identity of its owner.
Worf. His relief at hearing that voice was so intense that it startled him.
He thought he had been dealing with his situation fairly well, but his earlier
mood and his feelings now told him otherwise. All he could think about was
getting back to the ship.
He was surprised when Etain appeared first, familiar bare feet dangling over
the edge of the low drop before she slid into the chamber. Had she brought
them? His question was forgotten as first Riker, then Worf entered. Their
size made the chamber seem even smaller than usual.
Riker stood for a moment, staring at him with a peculiar mix of relief, anger
and apprehension on his face. Picard was reminded that he wanted to look at
the log-tape of Riker's return to the ship. That was the expression he really
wanted to see.
"Number One," he said quietly, acknowledging Riker's presence.
"Captain... it's good to see you."
"Likewise, Number One."
Riker nodded, and after a moment began to speak. "Captain, I..."
"Forget it, Will. These things happen now and then. And you as well,
Lieutenant Worf. If I insist on haring off without informing you, you cannot
be expected to properly fulfil your duties."
Both officers nodded, but he expected to have to deal with totally unfounded
mea culpas from each of them at a later time.
"I am curious as to why it took so long for you to locate me."
Riker shook his head. "A combination of things, really. Sensor-opaque
materials in the soil, and a ninety-eight percent human population among
them. We still wouldn't have found you if we hadn't had help. Here, I
believe this is yours." Riker held out Picard's combadge.
Picard took it from him with a grin. "Diplomatic of you not to mention the
fact that I lost my combadge like a first-year cadet. At any rate, I'm
pleased to see you both. There are things I need to attend to."
"Yes sir." Riker hesitated a moment, then plunged on. "The woman indicated
that you might be injured..."
"A broken ankle, yes, however it's not too bad now, Etain's worked on it quite
a bit."
Amused by his first officer's look of relief, Jean-Luc stood, balancing
gingerly on his uninjured foot, accepting Riker's offer of support. As he
turned to thank Etain for her help, he suddenly realized she was not there.
She must have gone while he had been speaking with Riker.
He immediately understood why she had left. He had hurt her, and she
wanted him gone. Enough to risk going above and finding someone to take
him. The thought was not a pleasant one. He had a feeling that he had just
made a rather vital error. At the moment, he could forsee no particular
consequences, but the feeling was there, nonetheless. He couldn't even leave
her a note apologizing, since she could not read. The only apology he could
possibly offer was to get to the bottom of whatever was going on, and do
something for her, and her people. He sighed, and shook his head.
"Something wrong, sir?" Riker inquired, concerned.
"Just my own ineptitude, I'm afraid, Number One."
Riker lifted an eyebrow, glancing over to where the woman had stood
moments earlier, and frowned. "She's gone."
Worf nodded. "She left as you were speaking." his voice sounded vaguely
puzzled. "Should I have detained her?"
Picard shook his head. "No, you did right. All she did was try to help. She
poses no threat at all, not to us at any rate. Shall we?"
"We're not sure if we'll be able to beam up from here, or if we'll have to go
to the surface first, but we'll give it a shot," Riker touched his combadge.
"Enterprise, come in."
There was a moment's pause, then a startled sounding O'Brien replied.
"Enterprise here sir, we are receiving you, and we have a clear signal."
"Three to beam up."
"Aye, sir. Energizing now."
The last thing Picard saw before the transporter effect obscured his vision
were the handprints on the wall.
###
Etain listened to Picard and the others making their loud noises in her long-
quiet world. She crouched in a side passage, and refused to give vent to the
feelings stirring and twisting inside, hoping that if she did not acknowledge
them, they would go away. The distress she felt was unpleasantly similar to
the way she had felt twenty winters since, the day the Darkmind took away
what was left of the RuaShi. This time the pain was of her own making. She
had allowed herself to care, and in so doing, had given her curse a chance to
work yet again. She had wondered if it had gone away, but it was clear now
that it had not. Instead, everything she cared about went away.
The Fierce-one had moved to stop her from leaving, and she had gone Inside,
into his mind, to remove the impulse and make him let her go. She had never
done such a thing before, never made another obey her will. Mhaiv had
taught her that to use that path led to soullessness. She begged silent
forgiveness of him, hoping he understood her need. She could not stay to
watch, to feel the friendship that flowed between Picard and the Bearded-one,
Riker. She had felt only the slightest touch of that, and craved it like she
sometimes craved green growing things, and sunlight.
She waited until the sounds had died away completely before she returned to her
nest. It was quiet, and empty, as it had always been. She sat down and stared
around, trying to reaccustom herself to the lack. She felt tired, as if she
had been days without sleep, as if she had Healed. Stretching out, she tried
not to notice that the cushions were a little warm, and still held a scent
other than her own; and closed her eyes.
###
It seemed only a little while later when the sound of footsteps and low male
voices woke her. She sat up, smiling, wondering why they had returned, but
not displeased. Light poured into the chamber from the passage and blinded
her for a moment. As she blinked, trying to see past the glare someone spoke,
and an unfamiliar voice wrapped fingers around her heart and squeezed.
"Well now, what have we here? A Halfling who's a bit more than half. How
did you escape the net, sweetheart?"
She rolled to her knees, her hand trembling on the hilt of her blade. She
didn't reach out. She didn't need to. The Darkmind's servants had found her.
The feeling she had ignored today had not been entirely her own pain. Her
meager fore-sense had tried to warn her. A second voice sounded,
whispering something to the first, who laughed.
"Yes, perhaps Coran should have let the girls grow up. They might have had
their uses, if they had turned out like this one. Ah well, too late. Come on,
we've work to do."
The light moved, finally, revealing not two, but four, and another just
entering the chamber. Loosening her blade in its sheath, she invoked the
Hunter as they moved toward her; she could not take all of them, but with
His help perhaps she could mark a few before she fell.
###
Cool, silver walls came into being around him, carpeted floor vibrating almost
imperceptibly beneath his feet. Picard felt the tension in his shoulders fade
for the first time in three days. He took a breath, testing the scent of the
air. Home. Enterprise; intact; peaceful. He felt the covert hum of her power
singing through him and acknowledged, yet again, that no flesh and blood
female would ever hold the same fascination for him. His sense of rightness,
of well-being was so intense that he forgot and took a step unaided, but when
he did so, pain reminded him and he stopped, teeth set. Etain had worked
wonders with his ankle, but it could not yet bear his full weight. The nearest
of the sickbay tables was several meters away.
Worf put out a hand as if to help, then hesitated. Suspecting some obscure
Klingon custom held him back, Picard spoke to put him at ease.
"I would be glad of your assistance, Lieutenant."
"Certainly, sir."
Worf stepped forward, both hands extended. Picard, realizing his intent,
quickly shook his head.
"I believe I can walk, with support, Lieutenant."
Worf nodded, and dropped one hand, extending his arm instead. Picard was
once again reminded of a lion, not an inapt simile in either temperament or
appearance. Worf was leonine by nature.
Picard leaned on Worf's proffered arm, stifling a sigh of relief. The thought
of his crew's reaction to his being carried by his security chief was not one
he cared to experience. Beverly Crusher exploded into the room, her face tight
with concern. She searched his face, looking for... something, he wondered
exactly what. He found an impulse within himself to avoid her gaze, feeling
a slight flush. She looked away, seeming a little highly-colored herself. He
resisted shaking his head. That quiet mutual attraction was still there,
sublimated nearly into extinction by both of them, but definitely still there.
Beverly suddenly cleared her throat and pulled her professional demeanor
around herself like a cloak.
"Would you help the Captain onto the diagnostic table, please, Lieutenant?"
Worf did as she had asked, then with a nod to the captain, left the room.
Beverly picked up a scanner and turned toward him.
"So, what seems to be the problem?"
He nearly chuckled at her words. So... physician-like. "I 'seem' to have
broken my ankle."
"Ah." She passed her scanner over his leg, read it, frowned, then repeated the
action. After reading the second scan, she looked up, her expression troubled.
"Jean-Luc, I know damn well you did not leave this ship with a broken ankle,
but this reading is of an injury several weeks old, not several days old! Did
someone down there use a regenerator on you?"
"In a manner of speaking. The woman who helped me is a healer."
"A what?"
"She uses psionic power to speed recovery."
Beverly frowned. "Unusual. Are you certain she didn't use a regen unit?"
"Absolutely. She also has a rather unique method of psionically blocking
pain."
"Interesting. I've heard of such things, even seen a few. Most of the real
ones could not have done something as extensive as this, and many of those who
claim such abilities are frauds."
"I assure you, Beverly, she's no fraud. There is no way she could have faked
this. She doesn't have access to the technology."
Beverly scowled, obviously not convinced. "Well, she seems to have done
well enough, as far as she went. Everything is where it's supposed to be, and
healing nicely. An hour or two with a slow fusion unit and you'll be as good
as new," she passed the scanner over the rest of him before looking up again.
"And it seems that, apart from your ankle, you're as healthy as the proverbial
horse. Stay put, I'll be right back."
As she walked around the corner, he turned to Will Riker.
"Fill me in, Number One."
"Yes sir. The Halvami claim that it was an anti-Federation terrorist faction
who attacked you."
"However, you suspect otherwise." Picard read, filling in the unspoken.
"Why?"
Riker rubbed his ear, looked uncomfortable, and shrugged. "I'm not sure.
Intuition?" he said, finally.
"Intuition, Number One? Isn't that Counselor Troi's domain?"
Riker's smile flashed whitely in the darkness of his beard. "Yes sir, but
since she's not here at the moment..."
"It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it?" Picard finished, amused.
"Something like that, sir." Riker was smiling as well, sharing the old
metaphor's banality.
"So. Any evidence?"
"No, none, apart from our earlier suspicions about slavery. I was hoping you
might be able to shed some light on the matter."
"Mmm." Picard frowned thoughtfully at his hands for a moment, then looked
up. "I would say that your intuition is correct, Number One, however I have
somewhat more reason to suspect them. I was told that Coran Delvekia
would be behind any attack."
"Told, sir? By whom?"
"By Seret Ng. I am certain she would be willing to testify."
"Seret Ng? I'm sorry, but Seret Ng is dead. Ostensibly of heart-failure
during the attack on you."
Picard stiffened, then shook his head regretfully. "Damn, I was afraid of
that. And she was our only witness, no, wait. Perhaps there is another."
"Who?"
"The young woman who brought you to me. She has knowledge of the
events Seret Ng was trying to tell me about when we were separated."
Riker nodded, frowing. "I see. Would she be willing to speak before a
Federation Council meeting?"
"I don't know. It could be difficult. She, like all the others of her kind,
is mute, and neither reads, writes or signs in any recognized language."
Riker looked puzzled. "Then how did she tell you?"
"She may be mute, but she communicates, after a fashion. It's rather like
playing charades, with a lot of contextual reading and a good deal of
guesswork. She is also a receptive telepath, and I suspect she augments her
attempts to communicate with projective telepathy as well. There were times
I understood her, and I'm still not sure how I did."
"I see." Riker mused thoughtfully for a few seconds, then looked up, a gleam
in his eye. "Since she's telepathic, we could bring up Lieutenant T'kar.
She's been on Halvam doing that sociological study you asked for, but aside
from Deanna she's the best we have."
Picard searched his memory, and a face clicked into place. T'kar. Vulcan, a
specialist in xeno-sociology and psychology. Her psi ratings were very high,
among the highest in the fleet. She had been one of three finalists for his
Ship's Counselor position. Starfleet, deciding that his natural tendency
toward non-emotion needed no reinforcing, had assigned him someone with
more 'emotional depth.'
Despite offers from several other ships, T'kar had chosen to remain aboard
the Enterprise where she felt she had more potential for contact with
previously unknown species.
"As I recall, most Vulcans prefer not to use their mental abilities in cross-
species interaction, the emotional levels apparently being unsettling to them;
however, as she was up for the Counselor position, Lieutenant T'kar may
have fewer reservations about such things than normal. Good suggestion,
Number One, please ask her if she would be willing to work with Etain in this
matter."
"Etain? Unusual name."
"Yes, it is." Beverly Crusher said as she reentered the room carrying a
portable slow fusion unit. She sat down on the edge of the table with her
back to Picard and began fitting it around his injured ankle. "It's Gaelic, I
believe. I remember my Grandmother telling us Old Earth fables as a child,
Etain's among them. She was supposed to have been the most beautiful
woman in all of Ireland, as well as one of the bravest." She paused for a
moment, then went on with studied casualness. "Does she resemble her
namesake?"
"As a matter of fact, she does." Picard said, quietly.
"Oh?" she breathed softly, tightening the closure of the device with
unnecessary roughness. Picard winced, then a second later a barely
perceptible smile curved his mouth.
"In fact, she reminded me quite strongly of another red-headed healer I know
in a number of ways."
Riker grinned broadly for an instant, then hid it quickly behind his hand as he
feigned scratching his nose. The doctor swung around to stare at Picard.
"Red-headed?"
Picard nodded. "Mmmhmm."
Beverly stared at him for a moment. "What ways?"
"Pardon?"
"In what ways did she remind you of m... of this other 'healer'?"
Picard studied the ceiling nonchalantly, considering. "Hmm, bedside
manner, perhaps."
Riker took a step back, then another. Picard shot him a look that called him a
coward quite eloquently, and he stopped.
"I see." She said after a moment, her eyes flashing. "I suppose I shouldn't
ask if that is a positive or a negative comparison."
"Oh, positive, of course."
"Of course." The fire in her eyes softened. She knew she was being baited,
and chose not to rise to it. "You stay put until I tell you that you can go."
Picard frowned. "And how long will that be?"
"An hour at least. After that, we'll see."
"Doctor Crusher, I have work to do!"
"Do it from here. You're not moving without my permission."
With a sigh Picard sat back, reflecting that Beverly and Etain certainly did
have similar dispositions, at least as far as their patients were concerned.
He didn't like it. He had a growing feeling that something was very wrong, and
felt he needed to be on the bridge, or at least doing something active. With a
long-suffering glance at his first officer he shrugged.
"Well, Number One, it looks like you'll have the conn a little longer. Contact
Lieutenant T'kar, see if she is willing to help us with Etain. As I recall,
there is legal precedent for the use of telepathic depositions."
Riker nodded. "Assuming she agrees, where will I find Etain?"
"The same place you found me. That is her home."
Riker stared at him, a frown etching its way across his face. Picard's earlier
unease deepened, this time with a specific subject. Something was wrong
with Etain.
"What is it, Will?"
"Data mentioned that the Halvami were tracking our transporter activity. At
the time, I didn't think it unusual, but..."
The unease solidified into real fear. "My God, if she's right about them, and
they know where I was, they'll be after her..."
"My thoughts exactly."
"Get her, Number One, now."
"On my way."
As Riker strode out, Picard looked down at his ankle and cursed softly.
Beverly looked at him and frowned.
"You think they would harm her? For sheltering you?"
"Absolutely. Unless she was lying to me, neither she nor any of the other
'servants' were born mute. She told me they were surgically modified to
prevent them from speaking. If they would do that to a child, what would
they do to an adult?"
"My God, Jean-Luc... a child?"
He nodded. "She was probably ten or twelve at the time. She doesn't
remember exactly how old she was when it happened, and seems to have had
no formal education at all."
"How old is she now?"
He shrugged. "I'm not certain, twenty-five, at a guess, judging from physical
signs alone."
"Fifteen years?" Beverly said, aghast. "Fifteen years with no means of
communication? That's inhuman!"
He nodded grimly. "I agree. Unfortunately it is all too probable."
###
Riker chose Worf and two other security officers, Johnson and Narat as the
additional members of his away-team, issued phasers, and transported back
down to the culvert where the entrance to Etain's dwelling was located. The
concealing screen-boulder was gone, leaving the opening obvious. Worf
studied the ground for a moment, frowning.
"There were many men here, after we were. Their boots have a different sole
construction."
Riker winced internally, and took a deep breath. "Well, come on."
Worf posted Narat to guard the entrance to the tunnel, then preceded Riker
into the the access tunnel, Johnson bringing up the rear. As a precaution, they
did not use their lights, and the darkness was so complete Riker could not
even see his hand in front of his face. He wondered how Worf could
remember which turns to take. As they reached the end of the tunnel, Worf
growled, the sound low and chilling.
"What is it?" Riker whispered, waiting for the Klingon's reply before turning
on the light. If there was anyone there, he didn't want to alert them too soon.
"Blood." Worf hissed back. "Blood, and fear."
"Life-form readings?"
A greenish glow lit Worf's face, momentarily rendering him an ebony
gargoyle as he quickly checked his tricorder. "One, very faint. About a meter
and a half to our left."
"Damn." Riker switched on his light, and its brilliance actinic after the
darkness.
He squinted, and as his eyes adjusted he saw that the small room was a
shambles, barely resembling the orderly habitation he had seen before. He
began to pick his way through the mess toward where Worf had picked up
the reading, still blinking from the sudden brightness. Worf put a hand on
his shoulder, stopping him, then pointed, his expression even more grim than
usual. Riker looked, and for a moment saw nothing. Then it registered.
Johnson gagged, turning away.
"Oh my God..." he said softly, closing his eyes for a moment, but only a
moment; then he punched his combadge.
"Riker to O'Brien."
"Here, sir."
"Four to beam up, on my signal, directly to sickbay; we have a medical
emergency."
"Standing by, sir."
Riker knelt beside her, and tried to figure out how best to pick her up. Worf
put a hand on his shoulder, and shook his head.
"Leave her so. Moving her might... damage her further."
Riker laughed harshly. "I fail to see how she could get much more 'damaged',
but I'll take your advice." He touched his combadge again.
"Now, Mr. O'Brien."
###
Picard heard O'Brien relay the 'medical emergency' message and went cold,
somehow certain that none of his crew were injured. That left only one
possibility. The certainty was curious, but seemed to go with his earlier
conviction that something was wrong with Etain. He tried to prepare himself
mentally, but nothing could have prepared him for what materialized on the
sickbay floor between his officers; or for the stunning wave of guilt he felt,
knowing that if she hadn't helped him, it would not have happened. He
heard Beverly Crusher gasp, obviously shocked, but she recovered instantly
and was on the floor beside Etain in seconds, her face set and grim as she
worked. Riker moved over to Picard, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, sir. We were too late."
Picard nodded, curtly, acknowledging without blame. "We need Lieutenant
T'kar. Find her."
Riker nodded and left, Worf followed him. After a few moments, Beverly
stood up.
"There are no spinal injuries, get her on the table fast. Chisholm, Frey, we
need full life-support fields, now! And get her typed, her blood looks odd,
she's probably not human, so we need to know what she is."
With a quick nod, Frey hurried away. Two other staffers lifted Etain onto the
central table. Beverly took a deep breath, then turned to face Picard, her
face stark with anger.
"How could one sentient being could do that to another! What kind of
animals are we dealing with here?"
"The worst kind... those who know what is right, and yet consciously choose
to ignore it. How bad is she?"
"Bad. She's in shock, massive internal bleeding, damage to liver, spleen and
kidneys, broken ribs, punctured lung, both arms fractured just above the
wrists... odd, that."
Picard shook his head. "Not so odd," he lifted his arms in demonstration, as
if to protect his face. "...they're probably defensive injuries."
"Def... of course. I should have guessed. Another peculiarity, no head
injuries, save some minimal bruising and abrasions."
"Deliberate, I'm sure. They intended for her to remain conscious for as long
as possible."
The doctor looked sick for a moment, then looked to where her people were
preparing Etain, and her expression became even bleaker.
"Jean-Luc, she wasn't lying about not being congenitally mute, someone did a
very thorough job of assuring her silence. Not only were her vocal cords
removed, but the vocal nerves were deliberately destroyed as well. She
couldn't even use a voder."
"Damn. I was hoping for that option."
"Whoever silenced her knew what they were doing. It was no amateur job."
He nodded. "I understand. That's in the past, though. For now, will she
live?"
"Honestly... I don't know. Right now, the odds aren't good. A lot depends on
her. From what you've said, she seems to be a natural survivor. That may
make the difference."
He nodded, looked down at his ankle, then looked up again. "Take the regen
unit off."
"Jean-Luc, I told you... " His gaze locked with hers, and her voice trailed
off. After a moment, she nodded. "It might help. You're the only person on
the ship she knows. Studies have shown that patients sometimes respond
positively to a familiar presence even when deeply unconscious. But you
must promise to complete the treatment later."
"As soon as I can," he agreed.
She leaned down and shut the device off, removed it, and helped him over to
where Etain lay. Grabbing a lab stool, she pushed him down onto it and
stepped back.
"Just try to stay out of the way."
Picard nodded. "Of course."
She turned away and began to arrange her instruments. Picard looked at
Etain, and winced. She looked worse up close. There probably wasn't a full
centimeter of her body not bloody, bruised or abraded except for her face.
Even that was not entirely untouched. Feeling ill at ease, he cleared his
throat.
"Etain, you're aboard the Enterprise. My people are helping you." As he said
it, he wondered if it was a lie. He wasn't sure they would be able to.
There was no response, not that he had really expected one. He looked up,
saw Beverly watching him. He lifted his hands, helplessly. She nodded
encouragement. He tried again. "Etain, can you hear me?"
Was it his imagination, or did she stir for a moment? He couldn't read the
medical scanners, so he didn't know if her condition had changed. Her face
was not peaceful; her pain showed even through her unconsciousness.
Damn! The whole situation was his fault. His incurable curiousity had
involved her in the first place, and his thoughtlessness had subjected her to
this.
He had been too elated by the prospect of going home to make sure she was
in no danger. She had seemed agitated when she brought Worf and Riker,
had she suspected? God... had she known? Could she be precognitive too?
Telepathic, empathic, a healer, and a precog? He'd never heard of one person
having so many metafunctions, but he supposed it was possible. He rubbed
his forehead.
"Etain, I'm sorry."
He didn't imagine it this time. She arched, as far as the life-support device
would allow, her face contorted with pain. Her eyes opened, met his. Almost
imperceptibly she shook her head. Simultaneously, the field-generator
alarms sounded. Her eyes closed, her body went limp, and something...a
presence he had not even been aware of until that moment faded from his
mind. The medical team began working even more frantically. He didn't
have to be told what had just happened. He knew. Angry, as he always was
when someone he felt responsible for died, he leaned forward and touched
Etain's face.
"Damn it Etain, I did not give you permission to leave!" he hissed.
He felt no response, no stirring. Beverly's face was intent as she worked, not
sparing a glance at him. He closed his eyes.
"Etain, please, I would not have your death on my conscience," he said softly,
trying to shove the guilt feelings down to where they did not interfere with
his thinking.
Beneath his fingers he felt her shudder. At the edge of his consciousness he
felt that odd... awareness return. Once more her eyes opened, locked with his.
She was back. He took a deep breath, only then realizing he had been
holding it. The alarms subsided.
"We got her!" Beverly crowed, triumphantly. "Lock it down... and where the
hell's that blood survey I asked for?"
Two voices spoke at once, conflicting.
"I can't seem to..."
"My God... she's conscious!"
Beverly whirled. "She's what?" she demanded. "That's impossible..." she
began. The tech interrupted her.
"Look at her scan-patterns... look at her face!" he insisted, his own face
pale, shocked.
The doctor looked, swore, and grabbed for a hypo. "The pain must be
intolerable! How can she possibly... never mind. I just hope this works."
The hypo hissed against the side of Etain's neck. Picard watched her eyes go
unfocused, then drift closed as the medication took effect. Beverly sighed.
"That's done it, thank God! I've never seen anyone resist a sedative like that.
I gave her enough to put Worf under! Now, where's her typing information,
Frey?"
The technician standing by the genetic analyzer spoke, his expression
sheepish. "I can't seem to get this thing to work."
Beverly huffed, irritated. "For heaven's sake Bill, it's a simple enough
procedure, for all that we don't have to use it very often! Here, let me do
it." She walked over to where he stood, inserted the sample, pressed a few
keys and waited, tapping her foot impatiently. After a moment the machine's
small screen lit up. She read the display, and scowled.
"'Species and genotype unknown'?" she snapped at the silent machine.
Frey looked smug. "That's what it keeps telling me."
""Damn it, that's all I need! Frey, go down to Bio for comparisons, I need a
full work-up, and fast... she's stabilized, but I need to get her plasma levels
up before we can really work on her, and if it isn't soon, we may lose her
again!"
Frey nodded, retrieved the sample from the machine and dashed out with it.
Beverly pushed her hair out of her face and scowled at Picard.
"There's more to this one than meets the eye, Jean-Luc. What is she?"
"I don't know. We may be dealing with a prime directive violation. I believe
her people are native to this world."
"Native to Halvam? But how could the surveys have missed them? How
could we have established a colony on a world already posessing sentient
life?"
"I don't know, but I intend to find out." He frowned, remembering the
sensation of presence/not-presence he had experienced moments earlier and
frowned.
"Beverly, is it possible to... develop metafunctions, spontaneously, at my age?"
Her gaze narrowed. "Under certain circumstances... why?"
"Because a few moments ago, when Etain 'died', I felt it, here." he touched
his forehead. "Considering the fact that I've always scored in the lowest
percentiles for metafunction, I found that rather odd."
"You didn't get hit on the head down there did you, or suffer some sort of
severe emotional distress?"
"No. Why?"
"Because those are the two occurrences which most commonly trigger latent
metafunctions into operancy."
Picard shook his head. "Neither of those things occurred. I will admit to being
concerned, and a trifle annoyed, but that hardly qualifies as severe emotional
distress."
"No, it doesn't," she lifted her scanner and examined him for a moment, then
shook her head. "Your readings are perfectly normal, I see nothing to account
for the change. If it keeps up, we can re-test you, see if you really are going
operant."
He nodded, frowning, not liking the thought that something unknown was
taking place in his mind. His attention was momentarily distracted when the
doors opened and Riker appeared, escorting a Vulcan woman in Sciences teal.
He recalled her instantly: T'kar. Surprisingly small for a Vulcan, she was
shorter than he. Overlarge eyes in a heart-shaped face managed
simultaneously to convey both impassivity and concern. Unlike the usual
serviceable Vulcan hairstyle, she wore her glossy black hair in a braided
coronet. Before the doors had completely closed behind them, the medtech,
Frey came barrelling through, his expression very disturbed.
Picard held up a hand to forestall any words from Riker or T'kar, and nodded
toward Frey. His information had a more urgent priority.
"Your report?" Beverly queried.
"You're not going to like it," he said unhappily. "We ran the sample three
times, and all the readings were the same: 'Species and genotype unknown'.
Then Barak tested for common hybrids, and got a partial confirmation on the
Vulcan-Human template... but, and this is the really weird thing... it gave us
a massive evolutionary distortion factor, somewhere in the neighborhood of
three to four thousand years! I don't understand how that's possible!"
"It isn't," Beverly snapped. "Give me that, I'll do it myself."
"Wait..." All eyes turned toward the Vulcan woman who stood beside Riker.
"May I?" she asked.
Beverly sighed. "Why not? Everyone else has! Meanwhile, since it's obvious
that we're never going to get a match on her, let's whip up a compatible
synthetic and get to work. We've got a lot to do."
As the team of physicians moved away, T'kar took the sample and inserted it
into the machine, touched a few keys, then turned to Picard, gesturing toward
Etain.
"Is she the person from whom the sample was obtained?" she asked.
"It is."
"Will it cause any harm if I touch her?"
"I wouldn't think so, why?"
"I am curious..." She leaned over and cautiously lifted Etain's hair away from
one ear, then nodded, as if in confirmation.
Picard was startled. In three days of close quarters, he had not noticed that
Etain had pointed ears, and the slight upward slant of her brows had been
enough within human norms for him to ignore, since she lacked the
distinctive physiognomy and coloration of a full Vulcan. The discovery did
help explain why he had thought her fey, and, now that he thought of it, her
use of the mind-meld. T'kar looked up at him.
"Commander Riker indicated that you spent considerable time in her
company. Did she demonstrate an unusual degree of metafunction?"
Jean-Luc's eyes narrowed, startled. He nodded slowly. "Yes."
"Which talents?"
"Healing, empathy, and telepathy. I suspect she may also have some degree
of prescience, but I have no direct evidence of that."
T'kar's nodded thoughtfully, then walked to the scanner and read the results
on the small screen. She shook her head. "I thought the legends were just
that... but here is what seems to be proof," she said softly, obviously
speaking more to herself than to them.
"What legends, Lieutenant?" Picard prompted.
T'kar took a deep breath and turned to face him. "It is difficult to
explain... there are so many of the old tales I do not know, but we have a
legend about beings like this. What I recall of it also mentions the
Preservers."
Picard frowned thoughtfully. "The semi-mythical beings who appear to have
devoted their time to spreading early sentient life-forms among the habitable
worlds in our galaxy?"
T'kar nodded. "The same. What I recall of the legend indicated that a
Preserver vessel may have come to Vulcan thousands of years ago, and from
a blending of its... cargo and native Vulcans, a group of mixed-species beings
were generated who manifested extraordinary metapsychic abilities, almost
from birth. It also mentioned that nearly all of them were 'fire-colored'..."
she pointed to Etain, "...like her. No doubt that was part of the reason for
the persistence of the legend. Hers is the rarest of colorings among Vulcans.
Only two percent of our population even carries a recessive for it. To
Vulcans, a population of red-haired beings was quite remarkable."
"Interesting. You believe that legend in some way relates to Etain?"
"It seems likely. It would certainly explain both her genetic makeup, and the
evolutionary distancing reported by the analyzer. The legends are quite old."
"An interesting theory. However, it does not explain how she, or the others
for that matter, came to be here."
"Was she born on Halvam?"
"To the best of my knowlege, yes; also, she told me that her people were
resident on Halvam before the colonists arrived."
T'kar's eyebrows went up. "Fascinating. I will have to consult the computer
for the full text of the legend, as I was never told its conclusion. One
thing is clear, she is obviously of the same species as the Halvami workers;
the phenotype is quite recognizable... as if it sprang from a closed genetic
pool...." T'kar was quiet for a moment, then looked up, her eyes lit with an
un-Vulcan intensity. "Captain, I would like permission to return to Halvam and
attempt to obtain genetic samples from some of the others who resemble her."
"Permission granted... after we are certain your services will not be needed
here, Lieutenant. Has Commander Riker explained what we may need you to
do?"
She shook her head. "Not fully, Captain. He said you may need my
telepathic ability, but not in what capacity."
Picard straightened, lacing his fingers together; a clear indication of
discomfort to Riker's experienced eye.
"What I ask may be difficult for you. I have only the word of a human
woman, Seret Ng, for what occurred, and she was silenced before she could
testify. None of the surviving natives, save Etain, have much knowlege of
what happened, as most were too young to remember. We may need you to
go into her mind to document the occurrence."
T'kar nodded. "It is a difficult request, but I understand its necessity.
Should she die, you have no witness. I am prepared to do as you ask."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Number One, arrange an away team including Lieutenant
T'kar to be dispatched after Etain is stabilized." He did not allow
himself to mention the other possibility. "Send full security, plus someone
from medical to perform the genetic testing... and don't alert the Halvami that
you're coming. Let's see if we can catch them with their (proverbial) pants
down."
Riker grinned and nodded. "I will see to it personally, sir."
"These humans who were brought to Vulcan, have your legends any record of
what they called themselves?" Picard asked T'kar, curiously.
She shook her head. "I am afraid I do not know. As I said, I never learned
the full text of the old stories, as I never thought to need them. I will
access them and report back to you."
"Very good, Lieutenant." Picard watched the group surrounding Etain for a
moment, then turned back to T'kar. "Lieutenant T'kar, is it possible that
Etain knows the Vulcan self-healing trance?"
T'kar shook her head. "I believe not. It is a relatively recent development,
only a thousand years old. Even if she is of Vulcan descent, I doubt they
would know the skill."
"Could you teach it to her?"
T'kar tilted her head slightly to one side, almost quizzically. "I am not
certain. I could attempt it. It would require the mind-meld, and there could
be danger in using it in such a situation."
"What sort of danger?"
"The meld is quite stressful for both parties. She may not be strong enough to
absorb the shock of the intrusion. There is also the possiblitity that if she
were to worsen while we were linked, I could be drawn down with her.
However, I believe it would be worth the risk, if I could help her."
"I appreciate your help. Etain may be stronger than we think. A few moments
ago, she... died, for a few seconds, I felt it happen. I also felt her return.
She willed herself back. The fact that I did feel it was remarkable, as it is
a type of awareness I have never had before."
T'kar's eyes narrowed. She reached toward his face, then abruptly stopped,
dropping her hand. "Forgive me. That was rude. May I see what sort of
connection there is?"
Picard nodded, and T'kar put her fingers on his face in a startlingly familiar
gesture. He braced for the expected surge of sensation, but it did not come.
Instead, a distant coolness seemed to spread from her hand. He was aware of
her presence, but not at all in the same way that he had been aware of Etain
under similar circumstances. After a moment she drew back, and was silent
for several moments. Finally, she looked up.
"You have a remarkably well-ordered mind, for a human. Have you studied
on Vulcan?"
He shook his head. "No, I regret I never had that opportunity, although..." he
smiled drily, "...I have been asked that question before. What did you find,
aside from that?"
She looked at him enigmatically for a moment, then shook her head. "There is
a connection; but I cannot explain it, for I have never seen its like. It is
as if she left something in you, almost like a catalyst which works to enhance
your own natural abilities."
"What sort of abilities?" Picard asked, skeptically.
"Empathy. I would speculate that if we administered the Reich series now,
your scores in empathic metafunction would be considerably higher than
normal."
Her words confirmed his own suspicions. He scowled. The thought that his
mind had been tampered with, no matter how altruistically, was offensive to
him. In addition, he strongly suspected that increased empathy might
negatively impact his ability to make the more difficult decisions he
sometimes had to make. His face must have betrayed his thoughts, for T'kar
spoke again, gently.
"She has not significantly altered your mind, Captain. It is simply an
enhancement of your natural abilities. It is quite harmless. In fact, it
should be studied, to see if the technique is viable for other species. Still,
if you wish, I believe it could be removed."
He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "Leave it, for now. It
may be useful. Can you help her?"
Slowly, she nodded. "It is possible, but we must wait until the Doctor has
completed her work, and Etain is as stable as possible."
"Of course." He resisted looking at Etain again, instead turning his attention
to Riker.
"Any thoughts, Number One?"
"If her people were here before the colony, it seems odd that no one reported
their presence earlier. Could the preliminary survey teams have missed a
native population?
Picard sighed. "During our initial colonization period, some were not
particularly scrupulous about planetary surveys, or the prime directive.
Etain's dwelling was underground, and shielded by sensor-blocking
elements. If the pre-existing population lived in similar underground areas,
they might not have been detected by a standard survey at all."
"But how could the colonists have hidden a native population for so long, and
so successfully? Surely, if nothing else, one of the 'natives' would have
contacted the Federation."
"Conceivably they were not advanced enough to understand it was possible,"
T'kar offered.
"Or perhaps they were simply afraid to." Picard said softly. "They seem to
have been actively repressed by the colonists. As I told you earlier, Etain
was not born mute. Nor, I suspect, were any of the others. They were
systematically deprived of all effective means of communication, probably in
order to prevent word-of their plight reaching the proper authorities."
"If Colonial Affairs hasn't done a sociological study of Halvam for twenty-five
years, I wonder when their last Evaluation was?" Riker asked grimly.
Picard stared at his first officer for a moment, then he nodded. It was a good
idea. "Find out, Number One, and I want to see that report."
"Yes, sir!"
"Captain," Beverly Crusher's voice sounded strained, tired.
He turned. Her fine-boned, feline face was pale, and the normally invisible
lines around her mouth pulled downward. She pushed a strand of auburn
hair irritably out of her eyes. For just a moment he was pushed back years,
and he saw her face after he told her about Jack. He shook off the unpleasant
memory and brought himself back.
"We've done what we can. She'll live, barring complications, but it's going to
be a long, difficult recovery. We couldn't use regen stimulants because we've
no idea how her body would react to them, and we couldn't do transplants
because her tissue doesn't match anything we've got on hand. We've taken
samples for cloning, but it will be months before the replacements will be
ready... providing the samples respond positively to the cloning medium in
the first place. We don't generally have any problem cloning either Vulcan or
Human tissue, but who knows about a fusion of the two?" She sighed and
shook her head. "We're going to have to do things the old-fashioned way for
a while."
"The old-fashioned way?" Riker prodded.
"Mechanical support. Periodic dialysis, that sort of thing. Not pleasant."
"No, it doesn't sound like it." Picard said quietly.
T'kar stepped forward. "I may be able to help. I would like, with your
permission, to attempt to induce a healing-trance in your patient."
Beverly brightened visibly. "That could be an immense help, if she responds
at all similarly to a Vulcan."
"I do not know if it will be successful, but I believe it is worth the attempt.
Captain, you say she has demonstrated healing abilities, were you the
subject?"
"I was."
"May I access your memory of how she did so?"
He thought about it for a moment, finally nodded. "I suppose so, but I must
warn you, it is rather... unsettling, even for a human, used to the sort of
sensations evoked. I suspect you will find it even more so."
T'kar was obviously puzzled. "It was unpleasant? Painful?"
He had to smile. "No, precisely the opposite. Which is why I think it will be
difficult for you."
T'kar's eyebrows drew down, and she stared at him for a long moment.
Finally she nodded. "I believe I understand. I will be prepared."
Once more she placed her fingers on his face, and coolness invaded his mind.
Picard found himself reliving the first time Etain had used her talent on him.
He heard a startled hiss of breath, and the contact was abruptly broken off.
He opened his eyes and found a very flustered-looking T'kar avoiding his
gaze. He chuckled.
"I warned you."
She nodded gravely. "You did, and I thank you. As you said, it is quite
unsettling. I have never encountered such an unusual method of relieving
pain."
"Nor had I," he admitted, wryly.
"What are you talking about?" Beverly Crusher asked, more than a little
suspiciously.
T'kar shook her head. "It is not something one can easily describe."
Picard silently thanked whatever deity ruled close calls. He really didn't
want to go into the precise nature of the side-effects of Etain's healing
abilities.
"Oh," The doctor's expression was decidedly put out. She tossed her hair in a
familiar gesture of irritation, and shrugged. "Well then, if you will excuse
me, I'm going to my office to update today's log entries."
"Of course," Picard said charitably, trying not to betray his relief. The
situation was rife with possibilities for awkwardness, none of which he cared
to incur.
Beverly walked away, not quite stomping, but almost. At times her familial
resemblance to her son could be quite pronounced. He turned back to T'kar.
"Thank you for your diplomacy, Lieutenant. Were you able to learn what you
needed?"
"I believe so. What she uses what may eventually have become the self-
healing program, overlaid with a neural shunt which reroutes pain impulses
into pleasure. It should be easy enough to show her how to alter the program
to heal herself, rather than another. It amazes me that she is able to use it
on another, it must take both an extraordinarily strong projective ability, and
a great deal of energy to use it. I know of no full-Vulcan who would be able
to make it work. Her mental assay must be quite remarkable, if she can do
this, and is both a projective and receptive telepath as well. You said you
believed she might also be precognitive?" Picard nodded response, and she
shook her head. "As I said, remarkable. I can attempt the meld now, knowing
what I must show her."
Picard felt a surge of relief. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"If there is any change for the worse in her condition while I am working,
break the contact by moving my hands from her face. If that doesn't bring me
out, you may have to strike me, quite forcefully. Do not be afraid to do so;
you cannot hurt me. If nothing goes wrong, the procedure should take only a
few moments to complete, so if I should remain in the meld for longer than
ten minutes, you must bring me back."
"I understand. Is that all?" Picard asked, having expected something more
involved.
T'kar nodded. "It is." She looked toward the table where Etain lay.
Picard's eyes followed her gaze, saw a technician monitoring the readouts
carefully.
"Shall we proceed?" she asked.
"If you are ready."
"I am. Do you need help? I sensed that she had not had time to complete the
healing."
He nodded ruefully. "Correct. Until I can find a free hour to use the regen
unit, I'm still an invalid of sorts."
He stood; she moved his chair, then aided him to it. He was surprised by her
lack of reticence toward being touched. Most Vulcans he had known
conscientiously avoided being touched, or touching. T'kar seemed to have many
mannerisms that were almost human. He wondered if long exposure to humankind
accounted for her atypical behaviour. He watched her settle onto the edge of
the table, and place her hands carefully on Etain's face, T'kar's long fingers
framing Etain's closed eyes as she found the contact-points she sought. T'kar's
eyes closed as well, and for a moment her face was serene, masklike; then
reflected agony etched across it and she moaned. He almost reached to pull her
hands away, but her eyes opened and she spoke.
"No, not now. If she can bear it, I can. A moment, and I will try again."
T'kar took several deep, steadying breaths, and closed her eyes again. Once
more she winced, but this time was silent. After a moment her expression
smoothed out as she mastered the pain.
"Computer, mark time, signal at ten minutes," he said quietly, then sat back
to watch. The technician moved closer, obviously curious. After a moment
he whispered.
"May I ask what she's doing?"
Picard glanced at him, recalling that his name was Torrez. He nodded. "She
is attempting to teach your patient how to use the Vulcan self-healing
program."
"Interesting. I've heard of the mind-meld, but never seen it in action before."
"I have. I've even experienced it." Picard recalled Sarek with a certain
feeling of sadness. It was a shame that such a fine man should be afflicted
with what amounted to senility, with no hope of cure.
They both watched. After a few moments, Torrez leaned over and checked
some readings, looking surprised. "Well, she seems to be succeeding. Vitals
just improved significantly, and the pain indicators are dropping off."
"Good."
Torrez straightened, turned away, then back. He stared at the monitor and
whistled softly. "I think I'd better call Dr. Crusher. She'll want to see
this."
"See what?" Picard demanded.
"Not even a Vulcan heals this fast! My God, you can practically see it
happening even without the monitors! Excuse me..." he smacked his
combadge. "Dr. Crusher, report to sickbay immediately."
"Acknowledged."
The doctor was in the room almost before the final syllable had cut off. She
conferred with Torrez, scanned the monitors, used a hand-scanner and shook
her head, her expression one of disbelief. She looked up toward the ceiling.
"Computer, begin full medical report logging immediately. All available
enhancements."
Turning to Picard, she shook her head. "I've never seen anything like this!
It's practically magic! If I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes, I wouldn't
believe it! Look... " She pointed to an ugly sepia and indigo bruise on
Etain's shoulder. "Watch it for a moment." As he watched, the bruise grew
progressively lighter, fading from a dark palm-sized mark, to pale greenish
one, simultaneously diminishing in size. It did not disappear entirely, but
as she had said, the improvement was almost supernatural.
"The same thing's happening inside," Beverly said excitedly, leaning down to
study a display, "slower, probably because the damage there is so much more
extensive."
T'kar shuddered suddenly, breaking the contact, and Beverly moved quickly to
help her sit up. Her hands fell limply to her sides for a moment, then she
lifted them to her face and sat like that, silent, for several seconds.
Finally she let her hands drop once more and she stood, swaying a little.
Beverly put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her.
"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" she asked, lifting her scanner.
T'kar took a deep breath and nodded. "Physically, yes. It is difficult, to
become another. Especially such another. Such talent..." She broke off and
turned to Picard, her face strained with uncharacteristically Vulcan
vehemence. "Captain, she must be trained! Even without training she has
abilities we never thought possible. We cannot send her back to that place, to
the things she has endured--it would be inhuman!"
Picard held up his hands in a gesture of pacification. "I have no intention of
returning her to Halvam... not under the present circumstances, at least. But
explain, please, what do you mean 'she must be trained'?"
T'kar assumed a very straight, intense posture, leaning forward slightly. "To
let someone as exceptional as she is go without learning is a crime. She is
already so far beyond even the best of us in metafunctions that she is a
considerable resource. With education, she would be priceless. She took
what I showed her, and even in her present state, was able to alter it, improve
it, and you see the result." She waved a hand toward Etain, shaking her head.
"Lieutenant T'kar, are feeling well? You seem... overwrought," Beverly
asked, obviously as taken aback as Picard was by the level of emotion the
Vulcan woman displayed.
T'kar looked from one to the other, and seemed to shiver for a moment. She
closed her eyes, and opened them a moment later. "Forgive my unseemly display
of emotion. I have not yet fully reintegrated. To some extent, it is her
fear speaking. She is terrified that she will be sent back."
Beverly looked puzzled. "You sound as if she were fully aware. How could
you tell that from someone under sedation?"
T'kar frowned slightly. "Until this moment I had not thought it odd, but in a
way she is conscious. It is as if her mind operates in disconnection with her
body. Your drugs seem to have isolated her conscious mind from her
external awareness, but logical thought continues. I do not know if it is
characteristic of her species, or a talent she alone has produced."
"Conscious, under fifteen cc's of clophine? I'd say it was impossible, but a
lot of impossible things seem to be happening around here today. I thought her
brain-activity seemed high, but since we're dealing with an unknown... this is
one for the textbooks."
"In more ways than one, I suspect," Picard said. "Thank you, Lieutenant, for
your efforts. I understand how difficult it is for you, having experienced a
mind-meld once myself. I hope that I will not need to ask such a service of
you again. You are free to go, and when you feel recovered, check with
Commander Riker about that away-team you requested."
T'kar inclined her head. "Thank you, sir. I will report my findings back as
soon as possible."
"Not as soon as possible, Lieutenant." Picard said gently, trying not to push.
Her emotional state was obviously fragile at the moment. "Please give
yourself a little time to rest first."
T'kar nodded stiffly. "As you wish, sir."
Picard thoughtfully watched her go then turned toward Beverly. "Doctor, I
have a great deal of work to do. Will you allow me to work in my quarters,
and use the regen-unit there?"
Beverly surveyed him skeptically. "Only if you swear you won't move while
it's on. I don't want to have to re-break your ankle so it will heal properly."
Picard winced. "You have my word, Doctor. I've no wish to undergo such a
procedure."
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 6
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:43:59 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER SIX
Although she had been self-aware all along, awareness of externals returned
to Etain gradually. She first heard the mutter of unfamiliar voices, then
smelled the strange, sharp, inorganic scent of the air, sensed a firm yet
peculiarly yielding surface beneath her, and felt the softness of an unfamiliar
fabric against her skin. She ached a little. Hoping to make some sense of the
unusual sensations, she opened her eyes and blinked at the brightness. After
a moment, her eyes adjusted. The light in the room was bright, yet strangely
soft. She found herself gazing up at a smooth, featureless expanse of cool
grey.
Unimpressed, she turned her head, and saw a wall of glossy darkness, like
obsidian, broken intermittently by small colored lights which seemed to move
and change. Strangely, that black sheened wall seemed familiar. What did it
remind her of? She searched for the memory, but could not seem to find it.
After a moment, she knew where she was - the recollection of Picard's words
gave her that much, but even that knowledge did little to help suppress the
stirring tendrils of fear she felt. She was alone and disabled in a place of
the Tall-Ones. Lifting herself a little, she discovered that she lay naked on
a raised platform, covered by a thin, soft cloth of deep maroon shot through
with metallic threads. She couldn't imagine anyone using such a rich fabric
for anything as ordinary as a blanket! She sat up, letting the cloth fall away
so she could look at herself. Cautiously, almost with awe, she touched one of
the faded greenish-brown bruises which practically covered her body, bruises
which just hours earlier had been nearly fatal injuries.
The one who had come into her mind had been female, but she had been too calm,
to precise, too... perfect. Etain could not understand such serenity, and even
feared it a little, but the gift which the cool-minded one had given her was
priceless. Why had she never thought of it before? So simple! She touched
her throat, wondering if it was possible, after so long, to restore what
the Tall Ones had taken from her. If she could restore her own voice, she
could restore the others! She knew she had no energy to even attempt it now,
but someday she would try.
Looking down, she wondered why people would choose to sleep so far off the
ground. She would never be able to sleep now, for wondering when she was going
to fall. Cautiously she dangled her legs over the edge of the platform and
slid the short distance to the floor. Coming upright made her very aware that
she was stiff, and sore. Not really in pain, not like before, but not normal
either. Indecisively she stood beside the table-like bed, wondering what to do
next. Whatever it was, she could not remain here, in this cold, lifeless,
too-bright, too-large place. She felt small and very alone, and though she
told herself it was nonsense, she was afraid. She could sense many, many minds
here, too many, and she knew none of them, save Picard. She had to find him.
Being practical, she realized she needed something to wear; unfortunately,
she had no idea where to find her clothes. After a moment she picked up the
blanket, wrapped it around from back to front, crossed the ends and tied them
at the nape of her neck. She was pleased with the result, finding it a far
more appropriate use for the fabric. Feeling less vulnerable clothed, she
closed her eyes and let her othersense range outward, seeking the one
familiar presence she knew she would find in this strange place.
It was only a few seconds before she sensed him, his mind-pattern familiar but
quiet. He slept. Not terribly far, but farther than she had hoped. His...
ship, Enterprise he had called it, was unfamiliar to her. Finding him would
be difficult. She moved cautiously to the open doorway of the room and looked
out. There were many Tall-Ones in the adjacent room, all busy with various
obscure things. All wore the same style of clothing as Picard, though all those
she saw here were in a blue the color of the night sky, rather than the
blood-color of his. She realized she would stand out terribly. There was only
one way to pass them without their knowing it, she would have to go Unseen.
That thought relieved her. She didn't so much mind that her clothing had
been taken, but she did miss her knife. To go unarmed amidst so many
strangers felt wrong, even though no one else she saw appeared to be armed,
and the fit of their clothing left few places to conceal a weapon.
She stood quietly and watched the strangers for a time, to see how they
moved, where they went, what they did. She was amazed by the outer door,
which seemed somehow to understand when a person wished to pass and
opened of itself. She hoped it would not sense that she did not belong, and
not allow her to pass. Though these folk did not have the Mindways, they
obviously had other ways just as mystical. Finally, she felt she could wait no
longer without risk of discovery. After a little while, she chose a female who
was close to her own size and coloring, and went inside her, letting herself
absorb the other's purpose, matching her breathing, her movements and
mannerisms, until she almost was the other. Then, holding that essence
before her like a shield, she stepped out.
Quickly and with determination she crossed the room and approached the
arcane doorway. To her great relief it opened, admitting her to a broad,
bright corridor where many beings walked purposefully toward unknown
destinations. No one challenged her. Her sense of relief was so great she
almost stumbled, her bare feet unused to the soft, strange texture of the
flooring. She had done it. She was free. Now, to find Picard.
She found a doorway to stand in and stood for a moment in search, sensing
direction, and then began to walk. With few exceptions, all the people she
saw were taller than she was. Some of them were very odd to look at, having
peculiar features like those of a cat, or lizard, some had oddly colored skin.
Once she saw a man whose ears and brows were much like her own, but she
could sense that he was not Rua'Shi, but instead like the Cold-One. To her
surprise she saw children. She had thought that there would only be adults
on this ship that sailed the stars.
Never had she been forced to remain in the presence of so many for so long
before. Fortunately, most of them ignored her, though a few, primarily
males, stared at her. That scrutiny made her breath come shallow, and
caused uncontrollable tremors to race her spine. She had learned there was
reason to fear males far more than females. She felt surrounded,
claustrophobic for the first time in her life despite the open breadth of the
corridor. She clung to the presence she sensed, the only being she had felt
truly comfortable with since... She stopped that thought abruptly, not
wanting to remember how it had once been. It was too painful.
Once more ducking into one of the many recessed doorways, she closed her
eyes, reaching out, searching for well-hidden warmth, like a coal under ashes.
She found him. He was... below? Not far, but definitely down. How could
he be down? She had seen no stairs, no ladders, no tunnels. She had walked
a long way since leaving the place where she had awoken. The structure
must be far larger than it appeared if there were more levels to it. From her
niche, she observed the comings and goings of the structure's inhabitants,
hoping to gain a clue from one of them. She supposed it was possible that
they possessed a Talent she lacked, and were able to teleport themselves from
level to level, but she had sensed very little Talent in any of them. Only the
Cold-One had possessed anything she considered true ability, and hers was
quite limited. Perhaps they were somehow shielded.
After a little time had passed, she noticed a small room at the end of the
corridor whose doors opened and closed, admitting and expelling folk; but
those who exited were never the same as those who entered, even though the
room appeared to have no other exit. She recalled seeing such rooms before,
on Home; they traveled up and down, carrying passengers. She smiled,
pleased with herself for having found the answer, but that still left
unanswered the question of how it functioned. The next time it opened, she
followed the person into the room. The other woman looked at her, and a
small smile curved one corner of her mouth. Etain suspected it was her
clothing which caused the smile, but there was little she could do about it.
"Rough night, eh?" her fellow-traveler queried.
Though she did not understand the comment, Etain nodded, hoping that
would be sufficient. The woman nodded back, and spoke again, as if to a
third person, though none was present.
"Deck three, please."
At her words, the room began to move. Etain forced herself to stand still, and
not grab the hip-level rail which surrounded the room, pretending that it was
commonplace for a room to move. She realized with exasperation that they
were ascending, not descending. The ship must be huge, for it to have levels
both above and below. Only a few seconds later the room stopped moving,
and the doors opened. She followed the woman out, waited a moment, then
stepped back in.
She studied the room carefully, in growing despair. Was speaking the only
way to make it move? If so, she was trapped until someone happened to go
to the level she needed. It was impossible! Were there none among these
beings who lacked speech? Was there no other way to make the room move?
A voice spoke, out of nowhere, female, and oddly toneless.
"Destination please?"
She jumped, gasped, and stared around, putting her hands to her throat as if
to force sound from it. None came, of course. Was someone watching her? If
so, why did they not come to her assistance? In frustration she struck out,
smacking her hand painfully against an inscribed metal plate.
"Deck four, acknowledged," the voice replied as she sucked at her scraped
knuckles. The room began to move downward. The plate her hand had
collided with glowed softly. The motion slowed, stopped, and the doors
opened on the hallway where she had stood a few moments earlier. She
began to smile. Boldly, she touched the next plate in the series. The doors
closed, and the downward motion resumed. When the doors opened, she
scanned, and knew she was still too high. She moved her hand lower,
touched a plate several steps down from the lighted one. This time when the
doors opened, she stepped out, following the mental signature she held in her
mind. This level was quieter, few others roamed the wide hall to intimidate
her. Stopping periodically to close her eyes and search, she walked the long
curve of the passageway, finally stopping before a closed door.
He was there, just a few feet away, behind the door. Cautiously she put her
hands against the cool metal and jumped back, startled, when it parted with a
soft hiss. She had not expected it to be so easy. It seemed beyond
understanding that a place existed where people slept without concealing
themselves for protection. She stepped into the room, and the door slid
closed behind her. The room was easily twice the size of her nest, and
another opening implied a second chamber beyond the first.
The chamber was oddly shaped, higher at the entryway than at the edge. The
ceiling curved and became wall, then floor at the far edge. There was, to her
mind, a great deal of furniture, all of it sleek, made of metal, glass, cloth,
and a smooth gray-beige substance which resembled leather, though she could
detect no scent of cured hide in the air. Here and there small lights shone,
green, red, blue, yellow; she did not know their purpose, but they were
attractive. From overhead a faint glow lit the room, with the brightness of
one or two candles. A painting on one wall showed a strangely shaped object
silhouetted against stars. She wondered if it depicted the structure within
which she now stood. She had understood that the Enterprise, as he called it,
was a vessel which rode not water, but space, such as the one the Shining
Ones had used. Her curiosity faded. He was not there, so he must be in the
adjoining room. Cautiously she crossed to the doorway which held no door,
and froze, staring.
What held her panicked gaze was the fiery brilliance of stars which seemed to
float past the window above where he slept. They were so close, so bright, not
at all as they appeared in the teal-shaded night sky she was familiar with.
The backdrop they glowed against was black, as black as the pupil of an eye,
with no hint of light beside the stars.
Etain shuddered, feeling cold and very small, disoriented by the sudden
realization that only a thin barrier lay between her and the cold emptiness
beyond. She looked away, deliberately veiling the sight. How could he deal
with that above his bed? How did one sleep knowing death waited so close?
No wonder he had not feared the darkness. She shivered again and, perching
a hip on his bed, reached down to touch his shoulder.
"What the hell?" he snapped, instantly awake and sitting up.
To her surprise, she sensed anger, irritation, surprise, none of which she had
expected. Fear flooded her, and instinctively she slid off the bed, into a
crouch on the floor, trying to think of a way to communicate her apologies.
She had not meant to anger him. She didn't want him to send her back to her
nest, where the Darkmind's servants might come and hurt her again. She
found herself shivering anew. He cursed softly, and stood, leaning down to
look at her more closely, then she felt the warmth of his hand on her arm as
he drew her to her feet. She avoided his eyes, not daring to reach out with
her othersense, fearing what she would find.
"Etain, I'm not angry with you, and I certainly won't harm you. You know
that. I was just startled. How did you get in here?"
She pointed toward the other room, and mimed the door opening. He
looked, then shook his head, chuckling.
"Wouldn't you know, the one time I forget to engage the privacy lock, I have a
visitor who doesn't know how to knock! How did you find me?"
She touched her forehead, then her ear.
"You 'listened' for me? It's a long way here from sickbay, and you're
unfamiliar with the ship, how did you manage? Oh, never mind, that's too
complex a question to answer, isn't it?
Etain nodded.
Jean-Luc sighed and put his hand on her shoulder. She jerked away, and
stared up at him, the expression on her face one he had never seen there
before. Just for a moment, she was plainly terrified of him, and there was
something else... an awareness he had never sensed from her.
He stared back, trying to understand why. She had never flinched from him
before. What had he done to evoke such a reaction? Simply touched her
shoulder. He looked at his hand, at her face, and with a sinking certainty he
knew. That awareness was sexual, something Etain had never evidenced
understanding of before. He closed his eyes momentarily, against the
realization. Apparently Beverly had left out something in her list of Etain's
injuries. And what she had omitted had changed their relationship, probably
irrevocably. Etain was conscious of him as male now, and because of what
had obviously happened to her, she would have a great deal of difficulty in
trusting a man.
He shook his head. "Ah, gods... that too? I didn't realize..." He looked
steadily at her. "Etain, you know I will not hurt you, you know that," he
said, with deliberate emphasis. "I will not touch you again without your
permission. You have nothing to fear from me, or from anyone aboard my
ship, I give you my word. Do you understand?"
She eyed him doubtfully, then slowly nodded, though his assurance did not
chase all the wariness from her eyes.
"I would ask you if you wanted to talk about it, but that wouldn't do much
good, would it?" he asked ruefully.
She shook her head and tried to smile in response. No smile came. He
waited for any further response, then, when none was forthcoming, he spoke
again.
"What can I do to help?"
For just a moment she lifted her eyes to his, looked away. She stared down at
her hands, which were shaking, and leaned forward in a futile effort to hide
the fact that there were tears sliding slowly down her face.
He almost reached out, but remembering his promise, stopped. The guilt was
back, full-force. Why hadn't he made sure she was safe?
"Etain, I feel that what happened to you is partly my responsibility. I should
have made certain that you were safe."
Etain blinked to clear away the tears, and looked at him, obviously puzzled.
She pointed at him, lifting her eyebrows.
"Me? Yes, me. I sensed something was wrong, but I did not bother to ask.
Did you know what would happen when I left?"
She frowned, and shook her head. Did he think she would have stayed to
face it, had she known? He must think her braver than she was! She had
sensed that something bad was going to occur, but not how bad. How could
it have been his fault? He had not called the pain-givers, he had not shown
them where to find her. As if reading her thoughts, he spoke again.
"They tracked our transporter beam to find you. When Riker told me they
had monitored our beam-up, I knew, and I sent him to find you, but by that
time it was too late."
His words penetrated her consciousness slowly. For a moment she didn't
understand, then she did. They would never have found her if not for him.
In essence, he had called them. She could not keep the feeling of betrayal
from showing in her face, and he flinched, much as she had moments earlier.
For a moment Etain felt the harsh burn of anger in her stomach, then she
realized that he could not have known, any more than she had. The failure
had been hers, she had not fought hard enough, or well enough. If not for
him, if he had not realized the danger and sent someone after her she would
be dead. She did not like the idea of being dead. What they had done to her
had been terrible, but the thought of death was worse. She knew death, she
had seen it, smelled it, felt it, hundreds of times. She shuddered,
remembering the Dying Time. If she died there would be no one left who
remembered, no one left to seek justice.
She took a deep breath, and reached for his hand, touched it to her forehead,
her lips and her breastbone, hoping he would remember the gesture. It
occurred to her that it was odd: as long as it was her choice, she did not mind
touching him.
Apparently he did remember. He let her guide his hand as she wished, and
then lifted it, palm out.
She pressed her palm against his, then let it fall.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I appreciate your clemency."
She waved her hand, as if to say it was nothing. He shook his head.
"It was not 'nothing'." He turned and paced a few steps, then turned back to
her, his face set, unreadable.
"Etain, I want you to know that I understand, perhaps better than most. There
is something you must understand." he paused a moment, obviously trying to
choose the right words. When he finally spoke, it was almost a whisper. "It
was not your fault. Never think it, never believe it. That is not how it is
meant to be, and it was not your fault. No matter how well or how hard you
fought them, you would have lost, because there was no way out. There were too
many of them. The only blame attaches to them, not to you."
She stared at him, a faint frown creasing her forehead. How had he known?
How could he have known? He did not have Hearing. His only Talent was
Feeling, and little of that. Yet it was as if he had heard her thoughts of a
moment earlier. She extended her own Hearing and touched him, lightly,
then recoiled from what she found, shuddering, her hand involuntarily
touching her own face, feeling for the covering of cold metal, the invasive,
inhuman... things she had sensed in his mind, things she had no words for
and no concept of. He understood. The execution had been different, but the
result in many ways the same.
"Etain?" he queried softly.
She let her hand fall and met his gaze, trying to convey both sympathy and
regret.
"Different, but the same," he said evenly, again echoing her thoughts. "It is
not an easy thing."
She nodded. To her embarrassment, she suddenly began to yawn, and tried to
hide it. It seemed terribly callous to yawn after such a revelation. To her
relief he did not seem to mind, for he smiled.
"Tired? I'm not surprised. I take it you came here because you were
uncomfortable in Sickbay?"
Again, a nod, a rather vehement one. He chuckled.
"You're welcome to stay. I have bridge duty in a few minutes. Will you be
alright alone, or should I call someone to stay with you? Lieutenant T'kar
would probably be willing to come."
Etain gave him her standard 'I-don't-understand' look.
"Lieutenant T'kar?" he guessed. "She is the one who taught you the self-
healing program."
That triggered the image of the other, the Cool-one. She shook her head. She
would rather be alone than face that one. Besides, here in a small area with
low light and at least one familiar scent, she felt almost at home. She did
not think she would have trouble resting. Save for one thing. She looked up
at the stars, pointed, then put her hands over her eyes.
Picard chuckled. "They bother you, do they? It's a fairly common reaction.
Computer, opaque window plates please."
The sparkling vista faded to a solid dark gray, far more comforting than the
moving stars. She relaxed. Just as she began to sit down on his sleeping-
place, a platform at a more reasonable height than the one she had awakened
on, a loud chirping sound startled her, and she turned, seeking its source.
Seconds later, a female voice spoke, not toneless as the one in the moving
room had been. This woman sounded upset.
"Crusher to Picard."
To Etain's surprise, Picard grinned as he replied.
"Picard here. What is it, Doctor?"
"I don't know quite how this happened, and I assure you we're doing all we
can to find her, but our visitor seems to have disappeared from Sickbay."
Picard's clipped, severe tone was at odds with his amused expression as he
replied. "Disappeared? How?"
"I don't know yet. We had no idea that we needed to put a guard on her, and
since her condition was so good, I was only having a tech monitor her every
half hour. Apparently she simply got up and walked away, through a whole
roomful of people, none of whom noticed. We haven't found her yet, though
I really would have thought someone would have reported a naked woman
wandering the corridors by now."
Picard glanced at Etain, obviously wondering how he had managed to miss
that. Etain fingered the cloth she wore and smiled. He shook his head.
"She's not naked, Beverly. She's wearing one of your blankets."
"Oh, well that explains it th...." The voice trailed off without finishing,
then returned a moment later. "Jean-Luc, are you telling me you knew about
this already?"
"I could hardly help knowing about it Beverly. She's standing in my
quarters."
"She's... damn it, Jean-Luc, she's been there the whole time? And you let me
go through that?"
His smile went away. "It seems little enough for a chief medical officer who
has managed to lose, and I mean that literally, a patient who could be an
important witness in a prime-directive violation case."
There was a moment of silence. When she finally replied, the woman's voice
held a mixture of annoyance and contrition.
"I'll see to tightening our security procedures, Captain." She placed an odd
emphasis on his title.
"See that you do, Doctor," Picard replied, with similar emphasis.
"I'll send someone down to escort her back to Sickbay."
"No. She will be staying here, until suitable quarters can be arranged."
Once again there were several seconds of complete silence. After a moment,
the doctor spoke again. "I see. I'll need to verify the status of her health
before I can officially release her from Sickbay."
"That should be no problem. You know where to find her."
"I certainly do. Crusher out."
Etain looked dubiously at Picard. The woman had sounded very annoyed.
She hoped she had not been the cause. She had no wish to annoy anyone.
Annoying people generally resulted in pain. Picard was frowning slightly,
looking at her from beneath his eyebrows in a way that made her
uncomfortable.
"Well, that's certainly set the cat among the pigeons now, hasn't it?" he
remarked cryptically, moving to touch the wall across from his bed. It
opened, and he removed a set of clothing like those he had worn before.
His action prompted Etain to notice for the first time that he was not wearing
his usual red and black garb. Earlier she had been too preoccupied to observe
that he wore an overlapped shirt and shorts of slate blue. So, his people did
sometimes wear clothing other than the uniform which so far had been all she
had seen. She felt pleased, thinking that perhaps she would not have to
conform to their standard attire which, though attractive, looked restrictive,
and too warm.
"If you will excuse me?" he said. It was more of a statement though it was
phrased as a question.
Etain shrugged, uncertain as to the proper response. He apparently took it as
assent, for he disappeared through an adjoining door. She stood for a
moment, uncertainly, then followed the call of her body and slid beneath the
thin, but surprisingly warm blanket on his bed and closed her eyes.
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 7
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:44:15 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Picard emerged minutes later, re-uniformed, he glanced at the bed and
smiled, shaking his head. It was rather an odd feeling to have another being
consider him the only source of familiarity in a strange world. He wondered
why he understood it so well, as it was not a particularly familiar situation.
Granted, his crew was, in some ways, dependent on him, but not in an
emotional manner. He put away his things and headed for the bridge,
leaving the door unlocked so that Beverly Crusher could get in when she
came by.
For a moment he thought about the obvious assumption the doctor had made
and chuckled. Ordinarily he wouldn't find such a situation amusing, but
there was something about this one that struck him. He would have to
straighten it out, of course. It wouldn't do to have her annoyed with him for
too long. Knowing he still had a few minutes until he was due on the bridge,
he stepped into the turbolift and gave his destination.
Arriving in Sickbay, Picard walked into the Doctor's office and stood for a
moment, watching Beverly as she sat at her desk, eyes fixed on the computer
screen in front of her, unaware of his presence. She leaned forward suddenly,
and a touch stopped the downward scroll of the display for a moment, then
her fingers moved down the sensitive surface of the screen and the image
enlarged. He heard her whisper a quiet curse, shaking her head.
"Beverly Crusher, you are getting incompetent in your old age!" she muttered
softly. "Damn! How could you be so careless? How did you miss that?"
Picard glanced at the screen. It showed a scan-enhanced image of a
humanoid female. He could not read the patient's name, but he suspected he
knew who it was. He cleared his throat.
"Doctor..."
She turned, obviously startled, then sighed. "Captain. I'm sorry, I didn't
hear you."
"No apology necessary. What is it you missed?"
She looked away. "I seem to have overlooked something during my first
diagnostic of Etain's injuries. I was so concerned with the life-threatening
injuries that I did not notice it."
Picard found himself immediately certain he knew what it was she had just
discovered. He wondered if it was a result of his newly enhanced psi, or
simply that he knew her well enough to read her unspoken discomfort. He
relieved her of the burden of trying to tell him.
"She was sexually assaulted."
Beverly looked up, surprised, then away again. "How did you know?"
"There is an... awareness in her now that wasn't there before. An awareness
of me as a male, not just as a person. And fear. She was never afraid of me
before."
Beverly stared at him for a moment, then an odd expression flashed across
her face for a fraction of a second. Her relief was almost tangible to him.
What had he said to make her feel that? He thought about it for a moment,
and the answer came. His eyes widened slightly. Was he reading something
into her reaction? Had she really been jealous of his imagined relationship
with Etain? He began to see why Deanna sometimes considered her talent more
of a curse. It forced one to confront possibilities one might prefer not to
confront.
Beverly gave no further sign of emotion. "I see. Unfortunately, treating that
hurt is more in Deanna's field than in mine."
"I thought it might help for her to have someone with her, preferably female.
I offered to send Lieutenant T'kar, but she rejected that notion quite
vehemently."
"I'm not surprised." Beverly said drily. "A Vulcan isn't exactly who I'd send
to someone in emotional distress. I'll go up. I have to see her anyway, to
check her over. How does she seem?"
Picard shook his head. "She seems composed. Remarkably so, really. I can't
imagine myself reacting with anything like the equanimity she displays were
I..." he stopped, frowned, then shook his head. "On second thought, I can. I
have. Perhaps it is a more common reaction than I thought."
Beverly watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowed in professional
evaluation as she weighed his response. After a moment, she finally chose
not to comment on his remark.
"I wish we had some way to talk with her, to really communicate!"
"As do I. It seems, between Seret Ng and what little I have gathered from
Etain, that we have two-thirds of a story. We need that missing third. I am
hopeful that we will have it soon. Etain is very bright, I had begun teaching
her Feslan, and she was learning quite easily. Once she learns it, she should
have no problem communicating." He referred to the most common
nonverbal language used in the Federation.
Beverly nodded, then her expression grew thoughtful. "You know, she might
have enough human ancestry to be compatible for a drip-learning course on
Feslan. I'll check on it."
"That could save us a great deal of time. I must be on the bridge in a few
moments. Doctor, thank you for your understanding."
She snorted derisively as she turned and began to gather up equipment.
"What understanding? I jumped to a conclusion with both feet... but then, I
suppose I can't imagine spending three days alone with you and not..." She
paused, turned back to him and winked broadly. "Later, Captain."
With that she brushed past him and left sickbay. Picard stared after her, then
shook his head, smiling. She did manage to slide those jabs right under his
guard at the damnedest moments. At least they were comfortable enough
with the subject to joke about it now. There had been a time when it would
have been impossible. Her year's reassignment had given them both time to
reassess, and come to terms with the situation as it must be. He headed for
the bridge.
Something prompted Picard to look up from the screen displaying the Security
report on Etain's dwelling. He glanced around the room, puzzled as to what
had caught his attention, but nothing out of place to catch his eye, no strange
sound to break the quiet. The Stargazer replica sailed serenely, as usual, the
painting of Spacedock wasn't askew, the brass plate listing all the Enterprise's
forerunners was not in need of polishing. With a slight frown, he turned his
attention back to the report. Her attackers had not taken her without effort.
Security had recovered her knife, its tip broken off, its edges dulled, and had
mapped two different sets of DNA from the blood on its blade. She had fought
them, but had not had the strength to stand up to the six Worf estimated had
been sent against her. Six, against someone not much larger than a child;
advanced weapons against a bronze knife. The thought rankled. What kind of
people was he dealing with?
He glanced at the objects which lay on the conference-table. At his request,
they had retrieved her book from its hiding place. With it they had found
another cloth-wrapped parcel, whose contents now lay gleaming dull-gold
against the glossy surface of the table. Two knot-chased penannulars, six
bracelets, three rings, and a crescent-shaped necklet so thin it looked as if a
touch would mar its inscribed surface. He had seen similar collections in
museums, dug out of the tombs of prehistoric men and women, behind
screens set to keep out human touch. These were the prized possessions of a
living being, meant to be worn, to be enjoyed.
The items brought a troubling question into abrupt focus. How had her
culture remained in stasis so long? They had been gone from Earth three-
thousand years or more, and had been intermixed with Vulcan civilization as
well, yet they seemed to have remained a virtual living museum of Earth's
late bronze-age Celts. It simply defied belief that their societal structure
would not have changed out of all recognition after so long. Even if the
colonists had not come along and interfered, could they have survived
without growth? Was the handful of Etain's kin he had seen all that was left?
Had their gene-pool been too small to support viability? Gods! It was
frustrating beyond belief. He had a thousand questions, and not one answer.
He stood and began to pace the small area near the viewport, stopping once
to tap at the glass of the aquarium and watch the scorpionfish raise its spines
defensively. A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth. It was an
appropriate mascot for himself; a spiny, defensive creature, easily riled.
Perhaps too appropriate. Without turning he snapped "Come.", then swung
around, startled, as the chime sounded a second after he spoke. The door
hissed open and Guinan stepped inside, regarding him oddly, a little amused.
"I see she worked on more than just your ankle." she commented quietly.
Picard nodded slowly, still astonished by the realization that he had
responded before Guinan had requested admittance. He rubbed his forehead,
as if he could feel there some physical manifestation of the unquestionable
change Etain had made in him.
"I hadn't realized," he began, then stopped, frowning. "I will ask her to
remove it. I prefer myself un-enhanced."
To his surprise Guinan nodded. "I agree. You were never meant to have
what she has given you. It isn't in your nature."
Strangely relieved by her concurrence, Picard leaned against the conference
table and waited for her to get around to telling him why she was there. He
had learned long ago not to try and rush Guinan. She would tell him when
she was ready.
She circled the room once, as if re-familiarizing herself with its contents,
stopped to stare out the viewport for a moment, then turned to him. "You
know I don't like to meddle..."
"Do I?" he asked, chuckling.
Guinan grinned in return. "Well, you have me there. So I do like to meddle.
But only when I feel it's necessary."
"And you feel it necessary now?"
"I do. This woman you brought aboard is very special."
He nodded cautiously, wondering in what sense she meant special.
"I am afraid for her."
His eyes narrowed. "For her, or of her?"
"Not of her, she is too like me, like I once was anyway. Lost, afraid, alone,"
she shuddered, touching the thick cold transparency of the viewport. "So
alone. And so bright, so much potential."
"Interesting, that's almost exactly what T'kar said."
"She was right. A Vulcan would feel it, though not as I do. But I'm afraid
she may have too much potential for the fragility of her state right now.
Things are too uncertain, and she needs connection, something to shore her up."
Picard tensed, suspecting what her next words would be. He had the feeling
he had heard this speech once before, from Deanna Troi, and knew he could
not possibly comply. To his relief, Guinan looked at him and shook her head,
smiling.
"No, I'm not suggesting you 'parent' her, Captain. We both know how well
that turned out last time, and I don't think knife-wounds are particularly
good for you. She needs friends, not parents. But even that isn't what I was
going to suggest. The environment here is totally alien. She needs something
familiar."
Picard's gaze went to the collection on the table and he nodded. "I think I
may have exactly what you want, Guinan. But how do you know this? Have
you spoken with her?"
"I didn't need to. I hear her as plainly as if we had spoken. I would like to
meet her, with your permission, to let her know that there is at least one
person aboard capable of communicating with her."
Picard stared at her, then slowly shook his head. "I've been an idiot! Here
I've been relying on amateurs, when I have a professional at my fingertips."
She shrugged, her expression bland. "I was wondering when you were going
to remember me. I suppose it's because I'm not regular crew, and I can
understand why I slipped your mind. Besides, with so much on your mind..."
"Enough, Guinan, I was wrong. By all means, take Etain under your wing,
she could use a mother hen right now."
Guinan winced. "Mother hen? I've been called a lot of things, but mother
hen?."
"Why not? It's one of your chief talents."
"Mother I'll grant, but hen? The image is so unattractive."
"Unlike you." Picard offered with a slight smile.
Guinan chuckled. "You're forgiven. Where is she?"
"In my quarters, sleeping."
Guinan raised non-existent eyebrows. "In your quarters?"
Picard sighed, wishing he had never offered Etain that convenience. "She was
intimidated by the size and atmosphere of the Sickbay. As I was on my way
here, I thought it would do no harm, however, I have requested that the guest
suite on deck eight be prepared for her. When she awakens, I would
appreciate it if you would escort her there."
"I should think so. You're going to get a reputation if you're not careful."
"I somehow doubt it," he returned drily. Turning, he carefully placed Etain's
ornaments and book in the case Security had supplied, and held it out toward
Guinan. "Here. These might supply that sense of connection you were speaking
of. Also, I asked the purser to review Security's recordings of Etain's
dwelling before furnishing the guest suite. Hopefully he has come up with
something she will find reasonably familiar."
Guinan nodded as she took the case. "Good idea, very good."
Picard shrugged, his gaze drawn toward the door. That feeling was back.
That peculiar sensation of knowing. Seconds later Riker's voice came over the
intercom, softer than usual, muted, as if he were trying to be quiet.
"Captain Picard to the bridge."
Guinan and Picard exchanged glances, and she nodded, confirming his guess.
"She's not asleep anymore." Guinan said softly.
He nodded, wondering what Etain was up to now. Entering the bridge,
oddly, the first thing he noticed was Wesley Crusher, whose expression was
one of sheer adolescent desire; the boy was practically drooling. Picard
turned slowly to follow his gaze, knowing exactly who the young ensign was
staring at. It was little comfort finding he was correct. Etain had found her
way to the bridge. And she'd appropriated his sleeping gear as her uniform
du jour.
The sickbay blanket had been more decorous, as on a woman the wide wrapped 'v'
of his tunic stopped just short of indecency. He wasn't entirely certain how
his shorts were staying on her at all, but since the tunic ended at hip-level,
it was a good thing they were. He closed his eyes for a moment and prayed for
patience. It wouldn't do to frighten her any more than she obviously already
was. Her eyes were riveted on the main screen with its almost infinite view of
space and planet, her face was pale, and her clenched fists white-knuckled. He
remembered her reaction to the far less dizzying view in his cabin and
understood immediately. He shot a glance at Riker, and found his expression
amused and waiting. He sighed, and gave his uniform a particularly irritated
yank.
"Main viewer off." he said quietly to the young woman at the security station.
She dragged her suspicious gaze away from Etain and nodded, hands moving
quickly.
"Main viewer off, aye sir."
The screen faded to pearl-gray and Etain sagged slightly, but recovered before
Picard was more than halfway to her. She shuddered, took a deep breath, then
straightened, and stuck out her chin. Tentatively she took a step toward him,
and as she did, the shorts slid down a good inch.
There was a collective intake of breath across the bridge, and a sound
suspiciously like a smothered chuckle from Guinan. Etain scowled and
reached down to tug them back into place. Before she could move again, he
crossed the distance and took her arm, gently.
"Etain, I'm afraid the bridge is off-limits. You should not be here, "
Etain's gaze dropped, and she nodded, obviously crestfallen.
Picard turned toward Guinan, the only person aboard who was equipped to
deal with an extremely naive and curious telepath. Deanna would have been
his first choice, lacking the sense of mischief that Guinan had, but since she
was unavailable, that was out. Only Guinan had the infinite calm, the
patience, and the understanding to deal with Etain, whose recent experiences
had no doubt left her somewhat fragile.
"Come, I have someone you must meet." he turned. "Commander Riker, you
have the conn."
Riker nodded acceptance, and Picard herded Etain back into the turbolift she
had exited only moments earlier, firmly controlling the urge to pull her tunic
closed. Guinan followed.
As the doors closed, Guinan reached out and touched her fingers to Etain's
wrist. Etain's head jerked up, and she stared at Guinan in absolute shock.
"I am Guinan." she said simply.
Etain stared at her, wide-eyed, for a moment, then slowly lifted her own hand
to rest momentarily against Guinan's.
"Her name is Etain." Picard supplied.
Guinan nodded. "I am very pleased to meet you. I sensed you, earlier. I'm
glad you are feeling better now."
Etain nodded, still staring at Guinan as if she had just descended from heaven
on a cloud. The turbolift slowed, then stopped. Guinan looked at Picard and
smiled.
"I can take it from here."
Picard nodded, and turned to Etain. "Go with Guinan, she'll show you to
your quarters. I will come by later."
Etain nodded, her eyes never leaving Guinan. Picard stepped back as Guinan
held out her hand. "Come child, we have a lot to talk about."
Etain took it, with the open trust of the child Guinan had named her. As they
moved away down the corridor, Etain reached down and hitched up her
shorts yet again. Picard shook his head, trying not to laugh.
"Oh, and Guinan," he called.
She turned, expectantly.
"For heaven's sake, get her something to wear!"
The doors hissed closed on Guinan's low chuckle. Picard stood for a moment,
feeling vaguely left out, then shook himself mentally.
"Bridge."
###
Etain was overwhelmed with sudden questions. Where had this woman
come from? Why had she not felt her presence before? How could she have
not sensed a being with whom she could freely communicate? Too surprised
and curious to be discreet, she stared at Guinan as she led her down the
corridor.
She was not tall, perhaps a handspan or so taller than Etain herself. She
moved fluidly, and seemed to be formed completely of smooth curves, no
angles at all. Her skin gleamed like polished dark wood, and though her
expression was serene below the odd head-dress she wore, her eyes were old,
wise, sad, and yet filled with vitality and laughter. They were Maivh's eyes.
Eyes that had seen too much, and yet not enough. She contained her desire to
spy into the woman's mind, but she could sense that she practiced some
version of the Mindways. She fairly glowed with Talents.
She was so intent on observing Guinan that she nearly ran into her when the
other woman stopped before one of the many doors which lined the
passageway. Embarrassed, lifted her hands in apology, but her companion
only laughed.
"It's all right. I don't mind. I've been stared at by many in my time. This
is your cabin, you'll be staying here, at least until we figure out what to do
with you."
The doors opened, and what lay behind them distracted Etain from the fear
Guinan's words had evoked. Her mouth opened in surprise, but she quickly
closed it. Home, it was home. Or almost. The room was scentless, obviously
new, yet so like her own. Someone had gone to great trouble to put her at ease.
After a moment she began to notice the differences, the smooth, white walls,
the soft padding underfoot; still, her first impression had been correct.
Everything fit her, cushions low on the floor, dimmed lights, earthy colors.
As she wandered, taking it in, she noticed a small carving of the Mother
displayed on a shelf against one wall, Her rich fullness rendered in sketchy
detail, very like the one which belonged to her own mother. She smiled,
realizing that whoever had put it there had not understood that the Maiden's
slim lines were more appropriate to her. The small error made no difference,
the effort was what was important. Her nose stung, and she had to blink
hard to push back tears.
A sudden wave of scent diverted her from her observations, and her mouth
began to water at the rich, spicy odor. Until that moment she had not realized
that she was hungry, in fact, ravenous. Guinan turned away from a panel at
the other side of the room, bearing a tray in her hands. On it were two
transparent cups; one containing a reddish-brown liquid, the other held what
seemed to be water; between the cups sat a bowl from which steam curled
and drifted. Food of some sort, cooked, and still hot. She couldn't remember
the last time she had eaten food still warm from its cooking. She had always
feared that the smoke from a fire might betray her.
Puzzled, she wondered where had it come from. The food had not been there
when they entered the room, yet it was undeniably real, no illusion conjured
by hunger. Guinan set the tray down on the low table and motioned for her
to sit. She did, and started to reach for the bowl when it occurred to her
that she was making an unwarranted assumption, and the food was not necessarily
for her. Embarrassed, she put her hands in her lap and looked away politely,
then was startled when the other woman placed a hand gently on her arm.
"Etain, it's yours. I certainly don't need it," she chuckled, as if at some
secret jest. "... but you do. Eat now, and we'll talk when you finish."
With a quick, and she hoped not ungracious nod, Etain turned her attention
to the bowl which held a mixture of vegetables and an unfamiliar grain. Seeing
no spoon, she carefully tested the temperature with a finger, then finding it
bearable she used two fingers as a scoop to carry a bite to her mouth. It was
delicious, the vegetables slightly crisp, the grain firm but soft, all in a
slightly salty, extremely flavorful broth whose spices were unfamiliar to her.
She saw Guinan smile and made her 'curious' face, wondering what had amused
her. She shook her head.
"Worf's going to love you." Guinan said cryptically, then reached down and
picked up the odd, pronged object which lay beside the bowl. "Try this."
Demonstrating, she speared a vegetable on the prongs, and caught some of the
grain with the flat side, then lifted it to Etain's mouth. Etain took the bite,
and then the object, studying it. It was like a spoon with two slits cut in
it. Easy enough to use, if one was careful with the pointed end. She
continued to eat, using the utensil. After a few bites she stopped, held it up,
and with the difficulty of long disuse, projected her question.
__What is this called?__
Guinan laughed. "There, I knew you could do it! It's just been a long time,
hasn't it? It's called a fork."
__A fork? Thank you. And, yes, it has been a long time. The others will not
speak this way, I do not think they have forgotten, but they are afraid to
speak with me.__
Guinan looked at her sharply. "The others?"
Etain nodded, cautiously taking another bite from the fork. She was relieved
that she didn't have to try to sign. Communicating this way, she could eat
and still 'talk'.
__The others. The Darkmind took them for his slaves, and though many are
as old as I, he keeps them all as children through some magic I do not
understand.__
"Whoa, wait just a minute here. I think you need to back up and start at the
beginning. Who is 'the Darkmind'?"
Etain projected an image.
"Ugh. Nice fellow. Does he really look like that, or is that his personality
showing?"
Etain examined the image she had given Guinan critically. Revising it, she
sent it out again, with an apologetic smile. __My feelings have influenced my
view of him. He is evil, but that does not show in his face. This is his true
seeming.__
"That's more like it. No running sores, no glowing eyes. Much more realistic.
I might know this person if I ran into him. No name?"
__If he has one, I do not know it. I call him the Darkmind for that is what he
is.__
"I see. This sounds like a long story, that is, if you don't mind telling it."
Tears flooded Etain's eyes. __I live to tell it. That was my promise, that I
would become fiach fiarsain and sing the tale.__
Guinan took a sip of her tea and settled in to listen. It was what she did
best.
###
His watch finished, Picard turned the conn over to Data and headed for his
quarters, but before the lift opened on deck eight, he wondered if Guinan was
still with Etain. Knowing how to satisfy his curiosity without interrupting,
he changed his destination and made his way to Ten Forward.
Guinan was not in evidence, either behind the bar, or in any of the groups
scattered around the room. Disappointed, he was about to leave when he
noted how many eyes were on him, and realized it would look odd for him to
leave, having just entered. Revising his plans, he turned and requested an
armangac from the Mellarian who took Guinan's place while she was gone,
and wished that Will Riker or Deanna Troi was there to talk to. He was all
too aware of the fact that anytime he entered Ten Forward unaccompanied, a
good portion of the crew-members present grew quiet, and a little tense. The
'captain on the bridge' syndrome was something that he had learned, over
time, was unavoidable. Knowing it was a sign of respect didn't make it any
easier to accept. Holding his drink, he turned and casually scanned the room.
Geordi LaForge sat a few tables away, by himself. With a sub-vocal sigh of
relief, Picard made his way over to where his chief engineer sat, toying idly
with a tricorder. An odd recreational device.
"Mr. LaForge," he said, nodding in greeting.
"Captain!" La Forge seemed startled, he had obviously not noticed Picard
earlier. He recovered quickly, though, and waved a hand toward the empty
seats at the table. "Will you join me?"
"For a moment, only. I've no wish to intrude."
"Not at all. I was just waiting for Wes. I wanted his input on this sensor
modification."
Picard leaned forward, interested. No one had mentioned any sensor
modification. "What sensor modification?"
Geordi warmed to his topic instantly. "Commander Riker asked me to work
on it when you," he hesitated a moment, then continued. "...went missing.
As you know, our sensors don't read worth a damn through certain minerals,
and metals. My VISOR has less trouble with some of them, so we've been
trying to develop a sensor mode which operates more like my VISOR."
"Interesting. It sounds like a good idea." he studied the tricorder for a
moment, then looked up. "Why are you doing this on your own time?"
Geordi's coloring made it nearly impossible to tell if he was flushed, but he
seemed embarrassed nonetheless. "Well, when you returned it made the
project obsolete; but I wanted to keep working on it. It seemed worthwhile."
"Indeed, quite worthwhile. However, I think it best left to your on-duty
hours. I look forward to seeing the results of your work; any modification
which improves our sensor capabilities should be given the time and talent it
needs."
Geordi grinned, obviously pleased. "Really, sir?"
"Absolutely, Lieutenant. I will note my approval of the project in the ship's
log."
Geordi half-rose, as if ready to leave. "Thank you, sir. We'll get right on
it."
"No, Mr. La Forge, you'll finish your off-shift, and then get right on it."
Geordi resumed his seat, and shook his head, chuckling. "Of course, sir." He
lifted his head, looking beyond Picard toward Ten-Forward's main doors, and
whistled softly. "Whoa, is that Guinan? There's trouble brewing from that
direction! I've never seen her look like that! She looks like an electrical
storm about to break!"
Picard swiveled, and found himself tempted to agree, though his un-enhanced
vision was confined to her physical expression. He had, perhaps, seen her so
disturbed once, when she had confronted 'Q'. She brushed past the table as if
he wasn't there, and headed straight for the huge viewplate where she stood,
and stared out, her normally placid expression gone, replaced by lines of anger
and stress between her brows, around her mouth. Picard went to stand with her,
quietly, waiting. Finally she turned, shaking her head.
"We need to talk, but not here. I shouldn't bring this here, this is a place
for healing."
Picard nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. It was why he had insisted
that Ten Forward be created, and that she run it. "My ready room is
available." he suggested.
"Good. I'll meet you there. Right now I need to be alone for a few minutes."
"Of course. I will wait."
Without acknowledging him, she turned and strode out. Picard followed,
more slowly.
###
"She's more like me than I knew, Jean-Luc. I thought I understood, but it's
worse. Much worse."
Picard tensed, but spoke calmly. "Explain, Guinan."
"Do you have any idea what was done to her, to them? Slavery, and worse,
genocide. He tried to eradicate her entire species! She managed to save a
few, she had just begun to understand and use her healing talent, damn, it's
worse than the Borg, at least they didn't understand what it was they
destroyed! This one, he knows."
"Who knows?"
"I don't know who. She calls him 'the Darkmind'. A tall, good-looking man in
reality, but his mind is exactly as Etain describes. Dark. It has to be, to
conceive of such filth."
"What is it he has done?"
"He killed them. All of them, except the few Etain managed to save.
Hundreds of them, in the space of days, dying in man-made agony." she
looked at him, her eyes angry, and bitter. "Your kind has so much good, Jean-
Luc. How can you also be so evil?"
His gaze fell before hers, and he shook his head. "We seem to have an equal
capacity for either, I cannot excuse, or explain it. It just is."
She closed her eyes. "It just is. Insh'allah, some would say. The will of
God. Even your gods are out of balance."
Picard did not reply, knowing no reply he could frame would help. After a
moment, he spoke again.
"Tell me, Guinan. Otherwise, I cannot help."
Guinan took a deep breath, and nodded. "It may well be too late to help, but
we have to try. As she told you, her people, she calls them the Rua'Shi, were
on Halvam first, though I don't believe they are native to this world. They
are part human, her people, and perhaps part Rihannsu, or Vulcan. I suspect
they were placed here, long ago."
"That much we had already surmised. T'kar suspects Preserver influence."
She looked up sharply, a speculative gleam in her eyes. "Yes, that makes
sense. The long sleep, of course!"
"The long sleep?"
"Etain said that they had only recently awoken from something she called 'the
Long Sleep' when the sickness came. I thought perhaps her species
hibernates, but Preserver technology makes more sense. For some reason, it's
been periodically putting them to sleep, and waking them up years later."
"Odd. I wonder why? Continue."
"This time, when the Rua'Shi woke, the colony was well-established. They
were surprised, yet accepted the change, they are, or were, a very accepting
people. They studied them surreptitiously, and even began to interact with
them. A few were taken and 'entertained', as is their custom. Two children
were born of matings between RuaShi and colonist; apparently a deliberate
experiment, the Rua'Shi were trying to see if a species so mind-blind could
possibly be human," she chuckled mirthlessly. "They were right to wonder.
Inevitably, a group of colonists found the Rua'Shi city, even hidden as it was,
underground. Because initially they showed no sign of aggression, they were
welcomed, allowed to come and go as they pleased. The man Etain calls the
Darkmind was among them. Six months later, the Rua'Shi began to die. In
four days, all but forty-three had died. All that saved those few was the fact
that Etain had developed enough of her healing abilities to teach their bodies
how to repel the virus, and neutralize it. She said her mother who was also a
healer, helped her find the solution, but died when Etain was only able to
make it work on those her own age, or less."
An involuntary shudder rippled Picard's spine. He knew now, why Etain's
eyes were so haunted. She had accepted the burden of death, and life for her
people, at an age when most human children had never even faced the reality
of death. And she had known the agonizing futility of finding enough of an
answer to help herself, yet be unable help her own family. He realized, with
shock, that he had very badly underestimated her. Clearing his throat of the
lump that constricted it, he spoke hoarsely.
"Go on."
"She took the survivors to another place, nearby. They didn't want to stay
with the dead. Because of that, they had a few months respite, then he found
them. Realizing they were immune to the disease, the first thing he did was
take away their voices so they could not tell anyone what he did to them.
With help from a human woman Etain managed to get away, before he did to
her whatever it was that changed the others."
"What do you mean, changed?"
"He altered their metabolism somehow. In point of fact, they are all the same
age as Etain, give or take a few years."
"Impossible! I've seen them, they're children, no more!"
"They look like children, act like children, they even think they are children,
but they are not. The youngest of them is only eight years her junior, and
she's nearly thirty-five."
"Thirty-five?" Picard asked, taken aback. "She looks and acts far younger."
"I know. Like my people, they were a slow-maturing race even without
human interference, and her lack of socialization accentuates her apparent
youth; but according to her, the others haven't aged a year since they were
captured. They have remained exactly as they were twenty years ago. And
that isn't normal."
"No, it isn't, but then very little seems normal about this world." he paused,
thoughtfully, then studied Guinan with narrowed eyes. "Would you be able
to identify the man she calls the Darkmind?"
"I would. Unequivocally."
"Good. Computer, generate image of Coran Delvekia of Halvam."
Above the table a holofield sprang into being, resolving into an hologram of
Coran Delvekia. Guinan studied it for a few seconds, then looked to Picard,
face grim."
"That's him."
"Damn, I suspected it."
He was silent a moment, thinking about what she had just told him, finding it
difficult to comprehend. An entire people gone... his first reaction was,
oddly, to wonder why. What had Delvekia feared from a people who, if Etain
was a representative example, could not possibly have been a threat. He
stared at Guinan blankly, and realized she was scowling at him.
"Don't you care, Jean-Luc? You sit there so calmly!" Guinan demanded hotly.
He closed his eyes, momentarily at a loss for words as he tried to find a way
to explain his reaction. He was well aware that it looked odd. Finally, he
made the attempt.
"I care, Guinan, very much. I am as horrified as you, as disgusted... perhaps
more so, since the man who perpetrated this thing is of Human stock. But it
is difficult to grasp the scope, the full nature of it. As an empath, you
cannot help but feel it. It is a unique failing among humans that we have
difficulty in dealing with tragedy on so vast a scale," he sighed, and rubbed
the bridge of his nose, feeling pressed to continue.
"A single death, of someone close, affects us greatly. We can grasp that, can
feel it. But an entire population gone is too much to comprehend. A part of
the mind shuts down, until it can find a way to understand it, leaving a mask
of calm in its place. Even today there are those who refuse to believe that
the masscre on Tarsus Four took place, though there is indisputable proof.
Their inability to accept it is symptomatic of the same human failing. I don't
excuse it, I can't, but it does exist."
Guinan shook her head, disgusted. "Humans! Why do I bother?" She shivered.
"If you could feel what she felt... see through her eyes, then perhaps
you wouldn't have this 'failing,' as you put it. Instead of removing that
empathic booster, maybe she should enhance it! Your kind needs to
experience this horror in order to stop repeating it!"
"You're absolutely right. I can't argue with your reasoning. We do need to
experience such things personally. I suspect I will, when I try to sleep
tonight." He shook his head, his expression taut and grim. "It's too late,
that's the worst thing. We cannot change it, or stop it. We can only try to
repair the damage as best we may. I'd have him in the brig now, save we've no
proof."
"We do now."
He shook his head again. "Barely. Telepathic deputation is legally
acceptable, but we need something, anything, to corroborate it before we have
a case we can bring to trial. I would have had a witness, but Seret Ng died
before she could finish telling me her story. I suspect she was killed to
prevent her from speaking with me, though her death was passed off as
heart-failure brought on by the attack on me."
Guinan shook her head, scowling. "There has got to be something, some way
to prove it."
Picard straightened suddenly, an idea beginning to take shape. "Perhaps there
is. You said there was an underground city, where they left the dead?"
Guinan shuddered, swallowing as if to stave off nausea. "Yes. Her memories
are very vivid. They died so fast, there was neither time or hands enough to
bury or cremate them. She did what she could, covering them, laying them
out, but they are all there, right where they died."
Repressing the image that conjured, he finished her thought. "And with them
probably evidence that the disease that killed them was manufactured. The
pieces finally begin to fall into place! Seret Ng said she had 'done an evil
thing'. She and DelVekia were partners in a genetic-engineering laboratory.
She probably helped him develop the virus or bacterium that killed them. If
we can prove it, if there is a way to trace it back to him, we have our proof!"
"Interesting, I wonder if the woman who helped Etain escape was Seret Ng,
trying to assuage her conscience?"
"It seems likely, though by that time it was far too late. But if we can't
make the link, we still have no case."
"We've got to try. They didn't know about the nature of the disease until
after it was over. Before Delvekia caught the survivors, they thought it had
been some terrible, but natural plague. When he found that some of the Rua'Shi
had survived, Delvekia was so angry that he spoke in front of them. Etain
understood enough of what he was saying to realize that he had unleashed that
devastation on her folk deliberately. She said she tried to kill him then,
but was unable to do so."
"Unfortunate." he gritted, harshly.
Guinan looked at him in astonishment. It was indicative of how strongly he
felt, normally such a sentiment would never have passed his lips. She sighed.
"Jean-Luc, death is something we must all deal with, but murder should not
have to be. She was a child, would you wish a lifetime of regret on her?"
He sighed. "No, Guinan, you know I wouldn't. If we can locate her 'city of
the dead', we may be able to find enough evidence there to support an
indictment. Do you think she would be willing to take a security team there?"
Guinan nodded, slowly. "I think if you ask, she will. She trusts you."
Picard shifted uncomfortably. "I can't think why, after what happened."
"That wasn't your fault, and she knows it." Guinan grinned, her smile
relieving a little of the tension that had developed. "Face it, Jean-Luc,
you're just one of those people everyone trusts, except those who have
something to hide."
He eyed her, disgruntled. "You make me sound like some damned galactic
boy-scout." he complained.
Guinan grinned. "If the shoe fits...."
He stood abruptly, still tense. "Where is she?"
"Hopefully in the guest suite where I left her, though she seems to have a
tendency to wander off. She knows she's in no danger here, and so feels no
qualms about exploring. She wants to learn, and she's very intelligent."
"That I know. And, as you know, I have already had experience with her
tendency toward exploration," he chuckled, feeling a little of the tension
leave him. "She seems to be ideal Starfleet material, save for her lack of
education, and a certain inability to follow orders"
Guinan looked at him, head tilted to one side, eyes sharp and narrowed, like
a bird. "You're absolutely right. She has no real xenophobia at all, which is
odd considering her experiences. It seems that as long as she can sense
sentience, that being is regarded as a person no matter what they look like.
That attitude could be a tremendous asset in Starfleet. You know that most
telepathic species have trouble reading Klingons, but she said that though
Worf is different, he is perfectly readable. You may have just come up with a
solution to her for what seems to worry her the most."
"Which is?" Picard prompted, curious.
"What she, and the others, are going to do after all this is over."
Guinan's words were matter-of-fact, but Picard sensed the seriousness behind
it. Etain's way of life had twice been destroyed. First when her people had
been nearly exterminated, after which she had managed to make a new life
for herself, now once again it had been torn apart. It was an understandable
worry. He frowned, realizing for the first time that something would have to
be done with all of the Rua'Shi. Their world had been irrevocably shattered,
they could not return to it. Nor could they be left to fend for themselves,
especially not, if as Etain had told Guinan, they had been developmentally
arrested. Depending on the cause, the condition might or might not be
reversible.
He looked up to find Guinan watching him intently and smiled, dryly,
knowing she had followed his train of thought. Sometimes he suspected that
being close friends with a telepath was a lot like being married. He'd heard
that spouses, like telepaths, seemed to know ones' thoughts without even
trying.
"I'll get someone to work on the relocation problem immediately, Guinan, and
thank you for bringing it to my attention."
Guinan inclined her head, looking for all the world like one of Earth's famous
Black Madonnas', her headdress uncannily like a halo.
"I thought you would. I will go down to legal and file my deposition now, if
you've nothing further."
"Of course, Guinan, you have my thanks."
She paused as the doors opened and looked back at him, her expression
troubled.
"Go soon. Something's going to happen. Something bad."
He nodded, accepting the warning. Guinan could be annoyingly cryptic, but
her warnings were always valid. As she left, he stood, unconsciously
reseating the lower edge of his uniform tunic, and went to ask Etain for help
he wasn't certain she would be willing to provide.
###
The guest-suite door was open when he approached, apparently Etain had
asked Guinan to leave it so. Picard released it to close behind him, wanting
privacy for this conversation. Etain sat on the low couch, eyes closed, her
arms wrapped around her book, and her face resting against it. The posture
was simultaneously protective, and possessive, reminiscent of a child with a
favored blanket. As he had requested, Guinan had seen to her clothing, Etain
now wore a loose tunic and leggings of winter-white. Her feet were bare. He
wondered briefly if white was the color of mourning in her culture as it was
in so many. Dull gold gleamed on her fingers, wrists, shoulders, and throat,
all her familiar things, displayed like talismans. He sensed that she was not
asleep, and also that she knew he was there, so he waited, as he waited for
Guinan. After a few moments, she seemed to shudder, and lifted her head to
look at him, then nodded.
He didn't need to ask what it was she agreed to. He could tell, simply by the
ghosts that he saw reflected in her eyes. How had she known what he had
come to ask? Was he that transparent to her now? It was a disquieting
thought. He had never liked sharing very much of himself. It reminded him,
though, that there was another matter he needed to take care of. He took a
seat in the chair across from her, and thought for a moment, of how to say
what needed to be said. Steepling his fingers, he began.
"You gave me a gift I am not equipped to use, Etain. I need you to put me
back the way I was."
She stared at him, a puzzled frown drawing her eyebrows down, and shook
her head.
He sighed. He had hoped it would be easier. "As you no doubt are aware,
we most humans have very little psionic ability, the ability to use your mind
to speak, to hear, to heal, that sort of thing. We aren't very good at them."
She nodded. He had the feeling she was amused.
"You changed something, inside my mind. Unlocked an ability I was unable
to use before. An ability to sense things, especially emotions, with thought
alone."
She touched her chest, eyebrows lifted.
Her unspoken "Me?" was obvious. He began to wonder if he, Guinan and
T'kar could be wrong. Then he remembered telling Guinan to come in before
she had asked, knowing that Etain was on the bridge before Riker called, and
knew he was not.
"Yes, you. Both Guinan and T'kar confirmed it. It wasn't deliberate?"
She shook her head, and, setting the book aside got to her feet. It was odd,
but she seemed older than before. Perhaps it was the fact that he now knew
how old she was, or possibly it was her clothing that made it seem so. He had
never seen her so completely covered before. She knelt down beside him and
lifted her hand to touch his temple, her eyes closed and her familiar scowl of
concentration creasing her forehead. He felt something. A feather-light
sensation of peculiar intimacy. After a moment she let her hand fall and sat
back on her heels, shaking her head, seeming confused.
"You feel it?"
She nodded.
"Is it your doing?"
She hesitated, then after a moment, nodded, without conviction.
Her confusion bothered him. If she didn't know how she had done it, could
she reverse it?
"Can you undo it?" he asked.
For several moments, Etain did not respond. Finally, she shrugged. He
frowned.
"You don't know?"
She shook her head. For just a moment, he felt afraid, and with the fear,
anger. He didn't want to stay this way. He didn't like it. The new abilities
had begun to affect his thought processes, and it was becoming clear that it
would continue to do so. Her hand closed around his wrist and he looked at
her. There was apprehension in her eyes, and determination as well. After he
met her eyes, she let go, touched her chest, then held out her hands fingers
curved and lifted as she slowly moved her hands toward his face, in her gaze
a question. He nodded.
"I need you to try. The change is not a part of who I was meant to be."
She nodded, slowly, and closed her eyes. Her fingers found his face, her touch,
as before, cool and slightly electric. He found his eyes drifting closed as
well, felt as if he were drifting off to sleep, very relaxed, peaceful.
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 8
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:44:45 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jean-Luc woke with a start, suddenly completely aware. He felt Etain's
fingers, warm now, leave his face. He opened his eyes to find her still on her
knees beside him. For an instant her face betrayed loss, then she looked
down, letting her hands fall into her lap. She sighed. He sensed a gap, like
the space left by a lost tooth, before the new one grows in, and knew it was
done. Oddly, despite not liking the change, he found he missed it now. He
kept that feeling from his voice as he sat up straighter.
"Thank you."
She nodded, still looking at the floor. He wondered what she was thinking,
what she was feeling. Without the empathy, he could no longer interpret her
easily. Was that why she had changed him in the first place? Had she done it
on some instinctive level, to facilitate communication? If so, that explained
much.
"Are you well?"
She nodded, looking up finally. She looked tired, but not as drained as she
had after her healings. She also looked unhappy, and resigned. Before he
could ask why, she rose, in that fluid way that reminded him she was not as
human as she looked. She took three steps toward the door, then looked back
at him and motioned for him to follow.
"Wait, where are you going?"
Her face went bleak. She pointed, towards the floor, then clenched her fist
and put it between her breasts. Sometimes, her elementary sign was as
eloquent as the best human speech. He stood.
"Not yet, Etain." he said gently. "It will take me a little while to
organize an away team, stay here, rest, I will come get you when it's time."
With a barely perceptible nod, she turned and went back to the couch, picking
up her book, holding it, unopened, against her. He hesitated a moment,
something was wrong, but nothing he could identify. He remembered Guinan's
comment about Etain's fragility, and hoped she was stronger than she seemed at
this moment. She would have to be, to take him where she needed to. He rose,
wondering why he felt as if he'd been sitting for hours in one position, and
left the room. On his way to his own quarters, he concluded that it was most
likely due to the fact that he hadn't gotten any real exercise in days. As
soon as he had things in hand, he would have to get back on a regular schedule.
It had been a while since he had practiced his fencing, that would be a good
start.
###
Guinan stood behind the bar trying to let the familiarity of Ten-Forward wash
away the bitterness, and the nagging feeling of unease that had lingered since
her talks with Etain, and then the Captain. She couldn't shake the feeling
that something terrible had been set in motion. If she could only see what it
was, perhaps she could also see a way around it, but so far that had eluded her.
Her attention was caught by the entry of Will Riker and Wesley Crusher.
>From the gleam of mischief in Riker's eyes, he was up to something. She
moved down toward the end of the bar, close enough to hear their
conversation. She could use a little mischief at the moment.
"... so you were impressed by our visitor?" Riker asked the younger man.
Wesley's eyes went unfocused for a moment, then he grinned sheepishly. "I
guess that was a little obvious. She's very pretty, don't you think?"
Riker ignored the question for a moment and turned toward Guinan.
Knowing Wes couldn't see it from where he stood, he winked broadly at her.
"Argellan ale, please, Guinan."
She nodded. "Coming right up, and for you, Wes?"
Still waiting for Riker's answer, Wesley was a little startled by her query and
had to think for a moment. "Uh, orange juice, I guess."
She turned to prepare their drinks, ears focused as Riker finally replied.
"Actually, yes, I do. She is quite attractive."
Wesley seemed pleased. Guinan turned to place their drinks on the counter
and saw Riker looking absently at the ceiling, something he was prone to
doing when he was trying to stave off laughter. Wesley picked up his glass
and took a sip, which was apparently Riker's cue.
"You know, she kind of reminds me of your mother."
Wesley narrowly avoided spluttering his mouthful of juice all over the
counter, managing instead to swallow it as he turned horrified eyes on Riker.
"My mother?" he demanded in tones similar to those he would have used
had someone had compared Etain to a Regulan blood-worm.
Guinan smothered a chuckle. Riker's sense of humor could be wicked.
"Mmmhmm. I noticed it right off."
"My mother?" Wesley repeated, aghast. "You've got to be kidding!"
Riker shook his head, innocently. "Don't you think so?"
"No!"
"Really? Odd, they're about the same height and coloring, and build. Small,
neat, not excessive... if you know what I mean."
A blush washed up into Wesley's face and he hastily took a drink. Guinan
could almost see him thinking, trying to find some way to refute his
companion's words. A disgusted frown etched its way across his face as he
realized he couldn't. Then, after a moment, a gleam almost as wicked as
Riker's lit his young face. Guinan waited expectantly as he turned back to
Riker with a canary-eating grin.
"So, you think my mom's good-looking?"
Guinan let out one short chortle, then choked it back, disguising it as a cough
as she watched Riker back-pedal, frantically trying to figure a graceful way
out. Before he had found one, his combadge signaled him with three short
chirps. With a look of utter gratitude, he touched it to acknowledge the
signal, and spread his hands apologetically.
"Sorry, can't talk now, got to go." He picked up his ale and gulped down a
few swallows before he set it down and headed for the door.
After he had gone, Wesley turned to Guinan with a grin. "So, how'd I do?"
"Oh, pretty good, I'd say," she answered noncommittally, but returned his
grin.
"I thought so too." he said, lifting his glass in a silent toast. "Thanks for
the advice. It's the first time I've managed to turn the tables on him."
"Keep it up, pretty soon he'll go looking for less wary prey."
Wes laughed and nodded, then wandered away to a table where several
young people his age sat. She watched him go, momentarily startled by the
maturity she saw in him. He had grown up so much of late. But then,
humans did that, they were a fast-maturing species. Guinan wondered how
long it would be before Beverly dropped by to talk about Wes. Guinan had
become her choice of sympathetic ear where Wesley was concerned, since
Deanna had no experience with this phase of parenting, and Guinan had
much. A new group wandered into the bar, and she turned, smiling, to help
them.
###
Riker paced nervously outside the Captain's quarters, trying to find the best
way to phrase what he had come to talk about. Finally deciding there was no
best way, he touched the call switch. Almost instantly, Picard's usual
peremptory invitation opened the door. Riker stepped in, much relieved to
find Picard sitting at his desk, looking at his comscreen, alone. That made
it a little easier.
"Number One, what can I do for you?"
"We need to talk, sir. Permission to speak freely."
Picard's eyebrows rose in curiosity. "Of course, Will, please, sit down."
He motioned to a chair in his living-area, and left his desk to take a seat on
the settee across from it. Riker sat, fidgeted for a moment, then finally
looked up uncomfortably.
"Captain, I thought I should point out that there are rumors beginning to
circulate about you, and Etain."
Picard sighed, and made a disgusted face. "Guinan warned me that might
happen, but I thought she was wrong. For heaven's sake, Will, I've spent
scarcely an hour alone in her company since she came aboard!"
Riker stared at him, surprised. An hour? Picard stared back at him, scowling.
"Surely you put no credence in these rumors, Number One?"
"I... ah..." Riker closed his mouth. If the captain wanted to pretend he
hadn't just spent at least the last four hours in Etain's quarters, should he
contradict him? He debated with himself for a moment, and saw Picard's eyes
narrow. He was getting angry. Uh oh.
"I see that you did. I should think you knew me better than that by now. I do
not mix business with pleasure, Will."
"Captain, wait. I do know that it's not generally in your nature, but
considering the amount of time you've spent..."
"What, an hour? Aren't you being just a little judgemental?"
"Damn it, Captain, it wasn't a hour, and we both know it! Four hours ago I
tried to contact you to let you know Deanna was on her way back via long-
range shuttle. You didn't respond. I queried your whereabouts, and the
computer located you in the guest suite on deck eight. I requested that I be
notified when you left it. That happened five minutes ago."
Picard sat back, obviously nonplussed. "Four hours ago?"
Riker nodded.
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
Picard got to his feet and began to pace. Suddenly he stopped, and turned, a
suspicious frown on his face.
"This isn't one of your practical jokes, is it?"
"No sir, it is not."
"Computer, ship's time please."
The computer responded pleasently. "The time is twenty hours, ten minutes,
forty-seven seconds."
Picard went noticeably pale.
"Six hours, my God, six hours!"
"Sir?"
Picard sat down, slowly, and shook his head. "The last thing I remember
happened almost six hours ago. After I left the bridge I saw Guinan, and then
went to speak with Etain. She agreed to guide an away-team to the Rua'Shi
city so we could search for evidence that the plague which decimated her
people was genetically engineered. Then I asked her to remove the psionic
amplifier which she had somehow activated in me. She agreed to try, and we
began. The next thing I recall happened less than fifteen minutes ago."
A ripple of discomfort made Riker sit straighter. "You remember nothing
between the beginning of that process, and now?"
"Not a damned thing. I remember her beginning the meld, and feeling tired.
It seemed only a few minutes later when I woke, and realized she had done as
I asked. The ability she had evoked in me was gone. I had no idea it had
been that long, until you told me, just now. Your attempt to contact me must
have occurred sometime in the interval."
Riker nodded, scowling. "You voluntarily submitted to this procedure?"
"Submitted? Will, I asked her to do it! I'm not cut out to be an empath! You
know what the really odd thing is? She didn't even know she'd done it until I
pointed it out. It was totally unconscious on her part."
Riker sighed. "Captain, you do realize that in six hours, she could have
significantly tampered with your mind."
Picard nodded. "I understand your fear that she has done so, however I do
not believe she has. However, I am perfectly willing to have Doctor Crusher
perform whatever tests she feels may be necessary to certify that I am still
myself."
"What makes you so certain that she hasn't done anything? You didn't know
she'd done it in the first place."
Picard looked at him, his eyes bleak. "What she did was harmless. I have
been... tampered with, in other ways, on three occasions, Number One. The
energy being, the Ferenghi, the Borg.... Believe me, one knows. Also, you
found her, you know what was done to her. A psychic violation is as
traumatic as a physical one. She would not do to another what was done to
her."
The memory of finding Etain made Riker swallow hard. Of all Picard's
arguments, this one was the most convincing.
"So, you think it simply took her six hours to undo what she'd done?"
"I don't know, but I am going to ask her."
"After we make a trip to sickbay." Riker said, expecting an argument. To his
surprise, he didn't get one.
"Of course. As I said, I believe it the easiest way to allay your fears. By
the way, exactly when does Counselor Troi arrive?"
"She should be here any time now. Her ETA was twenty-one hundred
hours."
"Good. She can add her seal of approval to Dr. Crusher's. Would you ask
Guinan to bring Etain to sickbay, so I can ask her exactly what did happen?
Guinan can serve as interpreter, if necessary."
Riker nodded. "Of course."
Picard stood up. After a moment, Riker hastily stood up as well, and
followed him out of the room.
###
Deanna Troi had sensed that something was up as far away as Starbase 214.
Her mental connection with Jean-Luc Picard, and the surer one with Will
Riker had told her something unusual was going on, but not what. Once she
would have put her feeling down to her own insecurity, but she had learned
to trust her instincts. She was needed, of that she was certain. To her
irritation, she could only sense a disturbance, not its nature. Even so, it
had been enough to start her scrambling for transportation, not wanting to wait
for her scheduled rendezvous when she was required immediately.
It had taken her mother's influence to get her aboard the diplomatic long-
range shuttle that was passing Halvam on its way to a rendezvous with the
USS Powell. They had, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to swing in close
enough to transport her over to the Enterprise. She had no doubt but that
Lwaxanna would call in the debt in the not too distant future. Perhaps
another visit to the Enterprise, to pester Deanna, and the Captain, and turn
everything upside-down for the duration of her stay. Deanna only hoped it
was worth it.
As they came closer, the feelings intensified, and became more perplexing.
There was something different about what she sensed from Picard.
Something... softer? Was that the right word? Not really, Something more
emotional. No, she decided finally, it was something more empathic. It was a
shock to come to that conclusion. What had occurred in her absence, to bring
out in him that particular ability? Not that he did not have a goodly share of
ordinary human empathy, but the empathy of her species, the ability to sense
emotions as others read the written word, that had never been part of his
makeup.
By the time the ships were within an hour of rendezvous, she began to sense a
new presence, one she had never felt before. A being, terrified, alone, and
desperately unhappy. It was female, but with a peculiar mix of child-like and
mature qualities, not like a Human adolescent, but something far more
reminiscent of a young but physically mature Betazed. Whatever the form it
wore, the power of the mind she sensed was awesome. Even among her own
race, who were among the most psionically gifted races in the galaxy, such
strength was unusual.
Whoever she was, her presence was, without doubt, the source of the change
in Picard. She could sense the resonances, the tenuous links. Even though in
the three years since she had become Picard's counselor, she had grown
accustomed to dealing with the uncontrolled emotions of others, had learned
to screen them, so they did not cut so deeply into the heart of her self; this
terrible sadness and fear was so powerful it made her want to weep. With
rigid control, she channeled the pain away, and kept herself at least
physically calm. Mentally she was a wreck.
Her shuttle was in final approach, when suddenly something changed. With
a tremor like the snap of an overstressed harp-string, Picard was himself
again. In that other presence, the sense of aloneness multiplied a hundred-
fold. Deanna clutched the padded armrests of her seat with a stifled moan,
and quickly shut down her sensing ability. It was too much even for her
practiced mind to bear. The Arkanoi ambassador looked at her with concern,
hir feathered ruff flaring as s/he leaned toward Deanna.
"Are you well, daughter of Lwaxanna?" S/he trilled.
Deanna straightened, and nodded, smiling reassuringly. The last thing she
needed was for Rlai to tell her mother she was ill.
"Yes, Ambassador, I'm fine. Just pleased to be home." she lied.
Rlai shook hir head in agreement. "Understand, home is best."
Deanna nodded, and hoped it wouldn't be much longer. As if in answer to
her wish, her combadge chirped, and Chief O'Brien's familiar brogue came
over the channel."
"We have your coordinates, counselor, but unless you want to arrive in a less
than dignified position, I suggest you stand up."
Deanna laughed. Having no desire to end up sprawled on her rear end on
the transporter pad, she did as he asked, and picking up her bag bowed
politely to Rlai.
"Thank you Ambassador, for the ride. If I can ever do a service for you, let
me know."
"Assuredly," Rlai warbled, and ducked hir head until hir beak touched the
spill of pastel pink feathers on hir breast. "Regards to parent."
"Assuredly," Deanna agreed, and touched her combadge. "Ready, Mr.
O'Brien."
###
Rlai's beaky, feathered countenance faded, to be replaced by Miles O'Brien's
wide, pleasant smile. The stocky, good-natured transporter chief was one of
Deanna's favorite people, probably because he had never come to her with
any problem she had to solve, in the next five minutes, or he would have a
breakdown. It was refreshing. He nodded, acknowledging her arrival.
"Welcome aboard, counselor."
"Thank you, Mr. O'Brien." Deanna stepped off the transporter dais and
glanced around, having expected Will Riker to meet her. The fact that he
hadn't told her that she was right. Something important was going on.
Cautiously, she tested the emotional waters, and to her relief found that
things were relatively normal. She turned back to the transporter chief.
"So, Miles, tell me what's been going on here since I left?"
O'Brien shook his head with a sigh. "Better to ask what hasn't happened since
you left! Have you got a spare hour?"
"It's been that bad?" She set her bag down and leaned over the transporter
console, propping her elbows on it. "Tell me, I'm all ears."
O'Brien eyed her up and down, favored her with a broad wink, and shook his
head. "No, that you're not. But anyway, I suppose I should start with the
Captain's disappearance."
"With what?" Deanna demanded, stunned.
"Don't worry, we got him back, but he was gone for three days."
"I see." she relaxed a little. "Go on."
By the time O'Brien finished, Deanna didn't know whether she was more
confused or less. Despite the fact that he was usually one of the best
information sources on the ship, he had only sketchy details, and rumors she
absolutely did not believe. It was obvious that she would have to get Picard
and Riker to fill in the details. She thanked O'Brien and left the transporter
room after querying Picard and Riker's whereabouts. Finding that they were
both in sickbay made her pace a little quicker, though she was certain neither
of them was hurt. That she would have been able to feel. She felt Guinan's
familiar presence and was pleased that they had brought her in. In her own
absence, Guinan was the best person to call on, as she might be able to help
the owner of the powerful mind that she had sensed earlier was approaching
collapse.
She entered sickbay and stood quietly in the outer office, unabashedly
eavesdropping both psychically and aurally, before going in. Beverly and
Will were both emitting worry, and annoyance. Comparatively, Picard was
an ocean of calm, though he also seemed a little annoyed. Guinan was...
Guinan, and the newcomer was as bad, if not worse, than before. Cautiously,
Deanna attempted to sort out the tangled skeins of emotion, and managed to
identify the primary threads. Fear, regret, and a confused braid of
love/respect/anger. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the room.
Picard saw her first, and his smile was genuine and reassuring.
"Deanna, welcome home."
As Picard's greeting was echoed by Will and Beverly, Deanna smiled, unable
to resist as she was suddenly enveloped in the warm mental welcome of three
of her closest friends. If ever she doubted that this was, indeed, home, the
memory of this reception, and countless others like it, would assuage that
doubt.
"Thank you, Captain, I am very glad to be back."
She turned toward Guinan and her companion, and froze, as the full impact of
the other's silent pain hit her. She swallowed hard, letting it flow over,
rather than into her, Finally it passed, and she tried to project reassurance
as she studied the one unfamiliar presence in the room. She was small, inches
shorter than Deanna, with hair almost the exact same shade as Beverly
Crusher's, though her skin was darker, almost green-tinged. She wore a loose
ivory-colored tunic and leggings which seemed to bear Guinan's stamp, save
for the gold ornaments which gleamed on it; Guinan's clothes were always
bare of decoration. Although she appeared youthful it took Deanna only
seconds to decide she was an adult, of whatever species she was. The
nuances of emotion she manifested were not those of a child. The red-haired
woman held out her hands, her expression repentant.
__I am sorry, I have not had to hold my thoughts in check for so long, I have
forgotten how. I did not mean to hurt you,__ she then glanced at Guinan
__...or you.__
Deanna nodded. "I understand, it caused no harm, I am fine. I am Deanna
Troi. I am the ship's counselor." She underscored her words with telepathy,
knowing that would convince where words might not.
"This is Etain," Picard said, easing the awkward pause which threatened.
"She is mute."
"But she is an accomplished telepath." Deanna said with a smile, offering her
hand.
Etain reached out, touching Deanna's fingertips with her own. Through the
touch, Deanna heard the bitter response to Picard's introduction which
echoed in Etain's mind. 'Etain, of nothing, and no one, and no place' and
immediately understood the source of the pain she had felt. Etain had sensed
the warmth and welcome Riker, Picard and Crusher had extended, and had
reacted to it with a combination of fierce desire, and jealousy that had been
psychically and physically painful.
Deanna tried to convey her understanding, but as she did Etain snatched her
hand back, and looked away, her face coloring. Deanna let it go, for the time
being, knowing she would come back to it later. Even without empathy, she
could sense that it would take very little to shatter Etain's control
completely right now.
Beverly Crusher seemed to understand the need for a distraction, and jumped in.
"Deanna, I'm glad you're here. I've run all the standard psych tests on the
captain, and can find nothing out of the ordinary, but your confirmation
would be reassuring."
Concerned, Deanna pivoted toward Picard, automatically extending psychic
antennae. "What is it, what's wrong?"
Picard shook his head. "Nothing, I just need to convince these two of that.
They are concerned that Etain may have meddled in my mind. I've told them
that what she did was to un-meddle. Guinan has confirmed that, but your
judgement would be welcome."
Picard's words echoed what Troi had felt aboard the shuttle. The sudden
recovery of normalcy. She nodded.
"I will try, but it really would be helpful to know exactly what you've been
up to since I left. As it is, I don't know what it is I'm looking for." She
complained, testing and prodding nonetheless.
"It's a long story."
"I had part of it from Chief O'Brien. I know that you were missing for several
days, and returned injured. Also that shortly after you returned, Will and
Worf brought back a severely injured woman from the surface, who
managed, somehow, to be whole and walking within a matter of hours. That,
I assume, was Etain."
Picard nodded. "All correct. The parts you are missing will take a little
explaining, but I will try to be brief. Etain is not human, but of a species
she calls Rua'Shi, apparently native to this world. There is a good
possibility that they are Human-Vulcan hybrids. She has, according to Guinan
and T'kar, rather extraordinary array of psionic abilities."
"What sort of abilities?"
"Projective and receptive telepathy, healing, empathy, and some degree of
prescience."
Deanna glanced at Etain, who did not look like she enjoyed being discussed
as if she wasn't there. It was a formidable combination of abilities.
Something Picard had said a suddenly impinged on her consciousness, and
she focused on him again.
"If her race is native to Halvam, how can they be Human-Vulcan hybrids?"
Picard exchanged glances with Will Riker, his expression grim. "A good
question, Counselor. We really don't know, though Lieutenant T'kar has a
theory which involves the Preservers. At any rate, it is fairly certain her
people have been all but wiped out by the human colonists. That we can get
into later. I was attacked while investigating, Etain healed me, and hid me
until I was able to return to the Enterprise."
Deanna opened her mouth to ask the reason for the sudden surge of regret
and guilt Picard broadcast. Before she could, he continued.
"Apparently at some point during my stay with her, she unconsciously
altered my mind, T'kar said she enhanced my own abilities. I believe she did
this in order to communicate more effectively, since she is unable to speak,
and has never been taught sign. The difficulty occurred when I asked her to
remove that enhancement. It is gone, but apparently it took her six hours to
do it. Six hours of which I have no memory. Will and Beverly are
understandably concerned as to what else she might have done during that
time."
__I did nothing!" Etain interjected strongly. __Nothing save what he asked.
They have no cause for worry, I would not so impose my will on another.
That way lies darkness!__
Troi could sense no deceit. Etain told the truth, at least as she perceived
it. Deanna had one concern, but it was not one she could voice aloud, not
without risking humiliating Etain. Carefully she projected her question on a
narrow band.
__I know that you believe you made no other changes, but the time involved
is very long. If you were able to make the changes originally without either
of you knowing it, why did it take so long to reverse them?__
What she sensed in response to her question was complex. Fear,
embarrassment, regret, sorrow, guilt, and a thread of defiance. Deanna found
that there were strange echoes of Picard in Etain, her thoughts and emotions
ran along oddly similar paths. Had the connection, however temporary,
altered Etain's mind, not Picard's? Her attention was brought back by Etain's
reply.
__I did not know how to undo it. It took time to learn.__
Deanna frowned. Etain was holding back. __That is not all,__ she prompted.
The guilt grew stronger, and Etain's eyes dropped. She did not reply for
several moments, then, finally, __No,__ she admitted. __I did not want to do
it. I fought myself, one way, and the other, for a long time. I wanted to
keep the bond, it is all I have here. Without it I am alone here. Once I was
not afraid of being alone. Now I am.__
Her chin came up, and she met Deanna's gaze full-on. __But I did as he
asked. It is done.__
A barrage of images lurked behind Etain's fear, half-seen, indistinct, yet so
clear: enemies, pain, helplessness, complete and utter helplessness;
encroachment on the inmost self. Deanna drew back, shocked, but that short
glimpse had revealed the elusive connection she had wondered about. Etain's
thought-patterns seemed to echo Picard's not because of any psionic
connection, but because they shared a common fear; one which shaped some
of their responses and reactions. The fear of being controlled, of the loss of
self, of defenselessness. All the trauma associated with rape, whether
physical, or mental. She felt tears gathering and quickly blinked them away.
"I'm so sorry..." she whispered, then realized she had verbalized the thought.
She shook her head and stood up a little straighter as she turned to Beverly.
"I find nothing out of the ordinary, Doctor. The Captain is fine. Sorting out
the links and disconnecting them was a difficult process, and took a great deal
of time, and energy. I have no reservations about Captain Picard's fitness for
command."
Guinan grinned. "See? I told you so."
Beverly relaxed visibly, Deanna felt her worry ease as she sighed and
shrugged.
"Yes, you did. But I am relieved to have your opinion confirmed."
Beverly's annoyance had not abated. She rounded on Picard, index finger out
and jabbing toward his chest.
"You, however, should know better. Next time you decide to have someone
muck around with your mind, you get someone to be an observer!"
Picard nodded, smiling wryly. "Aye, Doctor."
Beverly shook her head disgustedly. "You do seem to have a knack for getting
into this sort of situation. I've only been on this ship three years, and
this is the third time some being has decided you'd be a great addition to the
fold!"
The smile faded from Picard's face, his color seemed to fade, and grow ashen.
"I am well aware of that, Beverly, well aware."
The doctor frowned, momentarily puzzled, then she realized what she'd
done, dredging up nightmares of the machine-human hybrids who had tried
to make him their own. Her irritation faded instantly, replaced by
compassion, and that more-than-compassion that Deanna occasionally sensed
between the two of them. She put a hand on his arm. "Jean-Luc, I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to remind you."
"It's all right, Beverly." His color began to come back as he gently moved
Beverly Crusher's hand from his arm, and turned to Riker.
"Will, assemble an away-team, including bio-medical and archaeological
personnel, when you've done so, Etain will guide you to the Rua'Shi city.
Guinan, please look after Etain until Commander Riker is ready. Counselor
Troi, I would like to speak with you for a few moments in my ready-room as
soon as it is convenient."
"Of course, Captain. I can accompany you there now."
"Very good."
He took a step, hesitated, and looked past Deanna to where Etain stood.
"Etain, will you be alright with Guinan?" Picard asked, his voice lower,
warmer than usual.
Etain nodded, subdued.
"It will not be long, I promise, I know waiting is the worst part."
Again, Etain's response was a nod. Picard frowned slightly, then shook his
head and headed for the exit. Deanna followed closely, keeping pace with him.
They reached the turbolift and entered it, along with several other crew
members. Deanna wondered about the change in his voice and manner when he spoke
to Etain. He was a difficult man to read, keeping himself under control so
tight even a full Betazed would have trouble reading him. Had he developed
some sort of feelings for Etain? If so, did he even realize it? She decided
he probably did not. It wasn't something he would want to know, and he was
very good about not seeing things he didn't want to see.
"So, how was your seminar?"
"What?" Deanna jumped, startled out of her reverie. "Oh, the seminar. Fine,
I suppose. We'll get a few good counselors out of the lot. I'm afraid that I
was somewhat distracted, wondering what was happening here. I could
sense that something was wrong, not what, or when, just a vague sense of
unease. I'm afraid I had to ask a favor of my mother to get transportation
back."
"I'm sorry for that. I know you don't like to owe your mother favors."
Deanna laughed. "Captain, no one likes to owe my mother favors! She
invariably collects what is owed! But, what's done is done. I don't regret it."
"I'm glad, and I appreciate your timing. We have a slight problem which you
may be able to solve."
"Which is?"
"What to do with Etain, and her Rua'Shi, once we have them."
"I'm afraid I need more information before I can make a recommendation,
Captain."
"I know that. I had intended for you to read my log entries which summarize
the past few days to familiarize yourself with the situation. T'kar may have
some useful comments as well."
Deanna nodded, but before she could frame a reply, the turbolift doors
opened on the bridge. Picard stepped out, waited just long enough for her to
step out, then took off for the ready-room at a pace just short of a run. She
had always suspected he did that just to see if whoever was with him would
try to keep up, or drop back to a more comfortable pace. She decided to opt
for the latter, and entered the room a few seconds behind him. He was
already seated, scowling at the comscreen, fingers moving surely on
touchpads as he accessed his files. Deanna walked over to the desk and stood
in front of it, hands on her hips. She knew he saw her, because she suddenly
sensed amusement, and saw the nearly imperceptible curve of his mouth. He
finished what he was doing, then looked up.
"Yes, counselor? Am I to assume I'm 'on your list' again?"
"You are. Why didn't you tell me it was still bothering you?"
"Why didn't I tell you what was still bothering me?" he asked blandly.
"You know very well what I mean. The Borg. Have the nightmares
returned?"
"No, not often, anyway. In all honesty, do you truly believe I will ever be
completely free of them?"
Deanna sighed, and sat down in the chair closest to him. "I don't know. I had
hoped so. How bad is it?"
"I can live with it. I think it has surfaced right now because I feel a sort
of," he smiled. "...empathy, with Etain. At least part of what happened to
her bears some uncomfortable similarities to what happened to me."
Once again, Deanna felt a wave of guilt from him. She frowned, and leaned
forward.
"I know what you refer to, I sensed it, when I asked why it took her six hours
to break the bond; and you're right, there are similarities between your
experiences. But why is it you feel responsible for what happened to her? I
know you too well to believe you capable of that."
Picard stood and began to pace, then stopped to stare at the commemorative
plaque on the wall, and finally looked up, his eyes shadowed.
"You know me too well, granted. You know me better than any other being in the
galaxy, I suspect. No, I was not, physically, responsible, however it is
difficult for me to dismiss culpability when it was my impatience that created
the opportunity for it to occur."
"Tell me." she prompted.
He stood for a few moments before returning to his seat, and turning the
comscreen toward her. "Read the log entries, then I'll fill in the details."
She nodded, knowing that was the best she was going to get. He wanted time
to rehearse what he was going to say, time to try to camouflage, and conceal
his feelings. That was alright with her, it wouldn't work anyway. Hiding a
smile, she turned to the screen and began to read.
###
Counselor Troi left the Captain's office feeling quite dissatisfied. She had
sensed him holding out on her, but, as usual, had been unable to pry loose the
iron grip he kept on his emotions. He had been more than usually forthcoming
about everything that had happened on Halvam, but she suspected that was simply
as cover for what was really bothering him. She wondered if Etain's experience
had brought Picard's memories of the Borg too close to the surface. It had taken
months of work to get him to stop blaming himself for the death and destruction
the Borg had wrought through him. Now those feelings seemed perilously close
to the surface once more. She sighed, not caring that the soft sound drew
curious glances from the bridge personnel as she waited for the turbolift. As
Ship's Counselor, an occasional sigh was her prerogative.
The lift arrived and she stepped inside, reviewing what Picard had told her
about Etain. It was a wonder she was alive, and mentally functional after all
she had gone through. She was definitely a survivor. Deanna frowned.
Being a survivor sometimes brought its own set of problems, and Etain
obviously had some of those. Her total lack of compunction about stealing
and her desperate need for emotional contact were the most obvious. What
Deanna found surprising was that Etain had latched onto Picard to supply that
contact. Picard, with the exception of a few Vulcans, was one of the least
emotional people she knew. Why choose him?
She stepped back from her own involvement and looked at the situation
clinically. It did have a sort of logic about it. After so long without
companionship, perhaps Picard's distance was an appropriate interim step, to
help Etain become accustomed to dealing with others before she flung herself
headlong into the give and take of more openly emotional people.
The Counselor smiled, pleased with her solution, then wryly scolded herself
with a quiet admonition. "You know it's rarely that simple, Deanna Troi.
Don't make unwarranted assumptions."
The lift doors opened to admit a young human ensign from Engineering and
a pair of Kardassans in Sciences' teals who wore lieutenant's pips. She
nodded pleasantly to the trio, and stepped out of their way, hoping none of
them had heard her talking to herself. After a moment the human cleared her
throat nervously, and turned toward Deanna, worry obvious in the furrows
that marred the smooth, dark skin of her forehead.
"Counselor Troi, I'm sure you would know. Is everything all right?"
"How do you mean, Ensign...?" she paused, prompting.
"Tyrrell, Kattrin Tyrrell," she supplied quickly. "I mean, well, there's been
all kinds of uproar. The Captain was gone, but now he's back, but we're still
here. I thought this was just a routine diplomatic stopover."
Deanna hid her surprise at the fact that neither Picard or Riker had given out
any explanation for their delay. "Well, Ensign Tyrrell, it was supposed to be
routine, I'm afraid it's become a little more complicated than that. I can't
explain without permission, but it's nothing you need to be concerned about.
It's a Federation judiciary matter."
Ensign Tyrrell looked faintly disappointed. "Oh."
Deanna chuckled. "How long have you been with the Enterprise, Ensign
Tyrrell? I don't believe I've met you before."
"I came aboard thirty-two days ago, at Starbase Eleven."
"Well, don't worry. You'll get your excitement soon enough. It's rare for us
to go more than a month without any disruptions."
Tyrrell gave her a slightly embarrassed grin. "Oh. Was I that obvious?
"Only to a Betazoid." Deanna lied.
"Good. I'd hate to think I was."
"Not at all, if you will excuse me, this is my deck."
The Kardassans moved aside in the peculiarly simultaneous way they had.
Tyrrell nodded her thanks, and Deanna stepped out of the lift onto Deck
Eight. She stood for a moment, trying to decide whether to go to her own
quarters, or visit Etain to see what she could learn about the young woman
firsthand. Curiosity won out, and she headed in the opposite direction from
her own cabin.
###
Etain heard the tone she had come to realize meant someone desired entry to
her room. She welcomed the distraction, having dwelled too long on
memories. For a moment she felt helpless, wondering how she was to let her
visitor in. Both Guinan and Picard had spoken to allow someone else access.
She could not. She knew how to let herself out, though, and that should at
least cause the door to open. She stood up crossed to the door, and put her
hand on it. Obediently it slid open with a soft hissing sound.
Etain found herself nose-to-nose with the lovely dark-haired woman Picard
had called Counselor Troi, who looked a little startled as she took a step back.
"I'm sorry, were you going out?" she asked. Her voice was melodic, the
sound rounded and fluid. Etain wondered briefly if she sang, and shook her
head in answer, then remembered that like Guinan, this one could hear her.
__No, but it is the only way I knew to open the door. I cannot tell it to
open, as you do.__
The other woman smiled. __I understand. If I may come in, I can show you
how.__
Etain nodded and stepped aside to allow her to enter. The Counselor stepped
in, turned, waited for the door to close behind her, then pointed to a small
lighted pad beside the door.
__Here, to signal it to open, press the top key. This is also how you set your
lock. If you would like to be private, simply touch these three keys
simultaneously. To release the lock, just press the three again.__
Etain nodded her comprehension and practiced with the keys for a few
moments, until she felt at ease with the mechanism, then allowed the door to
cycle closed and turned to the Counselor with a smile.
__Thank you. This place holds many secrets for one uninitiated in its ways.
For instance, I know there is a way to get water, because Guinan did so
earlier, but I do not know how she did it.__
Her guest shook her head ruefully. __I'm afraid we do tend to take these
things for granted. May I give you a short course in how to use the
synthicator? You can get anything you need from it.__
__My needs are few.__
The counselor chuckled. __You may find that having ready access to a vast
array of goods tends to increase the amount of things you think you 'need', at
least until you get used to it.__
Etain nodded, thoughtfully. __I can see how that might be, yet what else do I
need?__ she gestured around the room, then to herself. __I have shelter, and
clothing. Apart from that, I need only food and water.__
Troi regarded her chuckled ruefully. __I wish my needs were as simple. I'm
afraid I'm rather material. I like things.__
Etain looked at her, puzzled, uncertain as to what sort of things the other
woman referred. She was suddenly curious about her, wondering what,
exactly, a counselor did, and why the others could not communicate as she
did.
__Why is it you can speak with me, you, and Guinan; but the others
cannot?__
The counselor looked up, seemingly surprised. Etain noticed for the first time
that her large, dark eyes seemed to have no pupils, or rather, to be all pupil.
__You don't know? Guinan and I are not human, well, I am half-human, my
father was from Earth. My mother's world is called Betazed, its inhabitants
are telepathic and empathic by nature, unlike most humans. I inherited some
of those gifts from my mother, though they are somewhat tempered by my
human genes.__
Understanding came. __So, you are different from Picard, as he is different
from me? Not the same blood, though in some ways similar.__
__Yes, exactly.__
__And Guinan, she is of Betazed also?__
__No. To be honest, I don't know exactly where Guinan is from, though I do
know that her people were largely destroyed by beings called the Borg.__
The image the counselor supplied called up sudden pain, terror, memories
not her own, but overwhelming. She shuddered, and her hand crept up to
her face. __Borg. Yes. They hurt him, Picard.__
Etain sensed the counselor's sudden, sharp interest.
__Yes, they did, how did you know that?__
__I touched them, inside him. Hidden there, deep, waiting, to tear at him like
carrion-birds when he sleeps. I know that fear. His fear is mine.__
The counselor stared at her, obviously shocked. __He let you see that?__
Etain shook her head. __Not intentionally. He only meant to comfort, for I
blamed myself, I could not help but see it.__
Troi shook her head. __He was right, Etain, never blame yourself. It wasn't
your fault, not at all.__
__I know that, now. I am learning to accept it. It is sometimes hard.__ She
met the other's probing gaze evenly, to let her see she was not lying. After a
moment the counselor seemed satisfied.
__If you ever have trouble believing it, come see me. That's my job, what I do
here.__
__What is?__ Etain asked puzzled.
__I help people deal with their fears, their hopes, their disappointments,
anything emotional.__
Etain thought about that for a moment, the concept strange, but not offensive.
__That seems a worthy skill, but is it not very draining?__
__Yes, often it is. But it can also be very rewarding.__
Etain nodded. __I see that it could be.__ She paused, studying the other
woman's features for a moment, then frowned, puzzled anew by her eyes,
this time by the shadowy coloration around them. Impulsively she leaned
closer and touched a finger to the counselor's brow-arch, where the color
darkened in an outswept stroke. Startled, Troi pulled back, and Etain's gaze
fell as she colored, embarrassed.
__I'm sorry, I did not mean to startle you, I just wondered.__
__About what?__
Etain stared at her fingertip and found it frosted with a soft mauve color,
like the dust a moth's wings leave when touched. She held out her finger.
__This. The color. I have never seen eyes like yours, I wondered if it was
part of you.__
To her relief the counselor didn't seem offended, in fact, she laughed. __No,
not at all, except that my conceit is a part of me. I use cosmetics, to
enhance my eyes. I'm afraid I'm rather vain about them.__
Etain shook her head. __I do not know this word, 'cosmetics.' What is it?__
__Here, it's much easier to show you than to try and explain.__ She motioned
for Etain to follow her to the multi-lighted panel across the room, grinning.
__This should be fun, I haven't done this since Tasha...__
The thought trailed away into a distant sadness. Etain sensed that the person
of whom Troi had spoken was no longer living. Immediately she regretted
asking about the cosmetics. She didn't want to bring up painful memories.
__Forgive me, I intrude.__
The counselor straightened and sighed. __No, not at all. I just hadn't
thought of her in a long time. She was a friend.__
Etain nodded understanding. Death was not an easy thing, she knew that
well. She offered what comfort she could.
__Her memory lives in you, perhaps that will draw her spirit when the
Mother brings new life through you.__
The counselor looked at her oddly, obviously puzzling out her meaning. __If
I understand you correctly, you mean if I have a child, her soul might come to
inhabit it?__ she paused until Etain nodded, then smiled. "That would be
quite an experience. A child like Tasha would certainly make life interesting.
But, let me show you how to use the synthicator, and then we'll play.__
__Play?__
The counselor smiled. __You'll see.__
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 9
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:44:58 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER NINE
Riker stood across the width of the desk from Picard, feet planted firmly,
arms crossed, his very posture radiating stubbornness.
"No, Captain. Absolutely not. We don't know what we'll find down there,
and I will not put you at risk. You know I'm right on this."
Picard's face was set, faintly disgusted. "Technically, yes, Number One, but I
still feel I should be there. Guinan said something bad was going to happen."
"All the more reason for you to stay here! Besides, we haven't let Delvekia
know for certain that we got you back, and if you were seen, it could tip our
hand. It just doesn't make sense for you to go."
Picard sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and nodded, finally. "Very well,
you win again, but under protest."
Riker ruthlessly controlled the grin that threatened to break out, knowing it
would annoy Picard no end. "Protest noted, sir. Would you like to see the
away-team roster I've assembled?"
"I would, thank you."
Riker handed the datapadd across the desk and waited while Picard reviewed
it. After a moment, Picard nodded and handed the padd back to him.
"Looks good, Number One. Why Ensign Aalgan?"
"He spent two years at the archaeo-biology station on Ettar Seven. I thought
he might be useful here."
"Good choice. I've asked Mr. Data to review the files on previous Preserver
finds, he may be able to make correlations between our findings here, and
those documented elsewhere."
"I certainly hope so."
"When have you scheduled your departure?"
"Fourteen-hundred hours."
"Good. Transporter-room Four?"
"Yes, sir." Riker turned to go, but was brought up short by the Captain's next
words, as offhand as their delivery seemed, he knew they were deadly
serious.
"Oh, and Commander, issue phasers. Guinan's warnings aren't to be taken
lightly."
"No, sir, definitely not. I'll have Lieutenant Worf assign extra security as
well."
"That would be prudent. I'll get Etain, and explain why I'm not going, on the
way to meet you."
Picard didn't sound as though he were particularly excited by that prospect.
Riker nodded, and left the room, knowing better than to comment.
###
Etain stared at herself in the mirror, and couldn't resist reaching out to
touch the smooth, cool surface, wonderingly. The only mirrors she had ever
seen had given back a wavery, golden image that she had assumed was herself.
Seen in this one, she was entirely different, not altogether due to Deanna's
artistry. She was older, but then it had been years since she had bothered to
look at herself. What gave her the most pause was how strongly she had
come to resemble her grandmother. Granted, she had only seen Mhaiv in the
winter of her years, even so she could see that the bones that underlay her
skin were the same, her coloring the same, the set of her jaw had the same,
slightly stubborn look. The resemblance was almost uncanny. Lightly she
traced the contour of one cheek in the mirror.
"Well?"
Her eyes met the counselor's in the mirror, and she smiled, tentatively. __I
like it.__
Deanna grinned back at her. __I'm glad. I think I'm rather good at it.
Perhaps if I ever tire of counseling, I can go into cosmetology.__
Etain understood from Deanna's tone that she was joking, and smiled, though
she didn't understand the reference. She stepped back to get a fuller view of
herself just as the door signal sounded. She walked to the door, hesitated a
moment trying to remember which key to press, then ostentatiously pressed
the correct one. As the door slid open, she glanced back over her shoulder at
Deanna with a triumphant grin. Deanna returned the smile. Etain turned to
see who her visitor was found Picard standing there, looking at her with a
thoughtful, almost puzzled expression on his face.
She wondered what puzzled him, and motioned him in. He complied, his
gaze sliding past her to the Counselor. After a moment he nodded toward
Etain.
"Your handiwork, Counselor?"
Deanna nodded, a tentative expression on her face, her hands behind her
back like a wayward child's, hiding the cosmetic brush she still held.
Picard studied Etain a moment longer, then a slight smile curved his mouth.
"Very nice."
Deanna colored. "I had a good subject to begin with. She's lovely."
Picard nodded. "I quite agree with you, Counselor."
Etain looked from one to the other, convinced they were teasing her, but
sensed no insincerity. She frowned, never having thought of herself as
particularly attractive. It was a strange thought. She looked back at Picard,
and realized suddenly why he was there. Instantly her spirits fell. It must
have shown on her face, for his expression softened, and he shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Etain, but it is time. In order to bring those who hurt you, and
your people, to justice I must ask this of you, otherwise I would not."
She nodded understanding, eyes on the floor. She felt Picard watching her
for a moment, then he shifted his attention to the Counselor again.
"Will you go with them? She may need you, to communicate with, if for no
other reason."
"Of course sir. I would be happy to."
"Thank you. Commander Riker is assembling the away-team in Transporter-
room Four as we speak. Will you meet us there?"
Deanna nodded, and took the hint. Moments later Etain and Picard were
alone in the room. Picard began to pace, alerting Etain to his discomfort and
unease. She waited for him to speak, not knowing how to prompt him.
Finally he did.
"I wanted to accompany you there, but I have been asked, or rather, told to
remain here. It is a regulation, a stricture placed on me by my position. I
have no choice."
A sudden tightness began to form in her stomach. He was not going. Somehow
that changed things, made them far more difficult, more fearsome. She could
feel that he was unhappy with the situation, but honestly felt he had no
alternative. That made it difficult, she wanted to protest, to refuse to go,
but could not without causing him pain. She took a deep breath, trying to
calm herself, and nodded, without looking up.
He studied her for a long moment, then sighed. "I'm sorry. I feel I'm letting
you down. I understand you are probably angry with me, with good reason,
but Riker and Worf are the best I have, and the Counselor will be there as
well. You will be safe."
She nodded again, forcing herself to meet his eyes, to assure him she was not
angry. His jaw tightened at the fear she could not keep from her gaze. She
shook her head vehemently, trying to convey her insistance that he not
punish himself, then pointed toward the door. He nodded.
"Yes, we need to go. Etain, I will be here when you return, if you need to
talk. Perhaps Deanna or Guinan can translate."
Once more she nodded, and walked to the door without waiting for him.
Best to get it done, and quickly. He allowed her to exit first, then took the
lead. To distract herself, she wondered what a "transporter-room" was.
###
Etain found it strange to walk the long, broad passages in the light. After
the clean sleek newness of the Enterprise, the smooth stone tunnels seemed
strangely unfamiliar. Her companions seemed unusually subdued, none of
them indulging in their usual easy chatter, as if they knew that they should
respect the quiet. She glanced at the walls, and saw that the creamy stone of
the corridor was now streaked with the rich mahogany colored rock from
which the Mother's Gate was cut. She was startled by how quickly they had
reached it, for it seemed too soon to have reached Dhara. The unaccustomed
light and noise of the others had disoriented her. A few feet further on, the
interlace carvings began, confirming their position. Only one more turn and a
few hundred feet lay between them and the Gate.
A tendril of unease uncoiled in her stomach, speeding her breath, sheening her
skin with cold moisture. She stopped just before the last turning, her fists
clenched. Something was wrong. She had finally come to realize that feeling
was more than simple apprehension. Holding up her hands to halt the
others, she took a few steps ahead and stood, every sense extended, trying to
identify what it was her othersense warned her of. The first thing that came
was scent. The sharp, acrid scent of sweat, the alien smells of manufactured
metal and cloth, the clashing notes of carelessly applied perfumes. Living
smells, in the place where there should be none, where only the dry, sweet
dust of the dead should scent the air. Seconds later she sensed other minds,
confirming what her nose had discovered already, sensed one mind in
particular, burning like a black star among those of lesser darkness. A
shudder went through her.
"Etain?"
She jumped. Riker's whispered query seemed to echo and resound in the
stillness. His eyes met hers, questioning. She tried to think how to tell him,
to convey who and what she sensed. It was nearly impossible. It was so
frustrating to be so unable to communicate! A hand touched hers, a
sympathetic presence manifesting.
__Etain, what is it?__ Deanna asked.
Etain immediately felt foolish. She had forgotten the counselor's presence.
Having someone to communicate with had not yet become routine. She
pointed ahead.
__Tall-ones, many of them, waiting ahead. The Darkmind among them.__
The counselor's dark eyes widened slightly, but she nodded and turned
immediately to Riker.
"She senses others waiting for us in the city, including the one she calls the
Darkmind."
"Delvekia?" Riker asked.
Etain nodded, recognizing the name.
"Mr. Worf, do your sensor readings confirm?"
The Fierce-one nodded, his perpetual scowl deepening. "Sensor readings are
sporadic due to reflection and ghosting, but I am picking up indeterminate
life-sign about approximately thirty-four meters ahead."
Riker grinned humorlessly. "A surprise party. How nice. Well, shall we see
if we can't surprise them instead? Etain, is there another way into your city?"
This time she was ready. She turned to Troi to respond.
__There is, but it will take time to reach it.__
Deanna relayed, and Riker's grin became more feral.
"Are we in a hurry?" he asked, then continued without waiting for an
answer. "Do you think they are aware of the other entrance? Is it obvious?"
__No. It is small, I doubt they know of it. It was little-used.__
Riker waited for Deanna to relay, then nodded, seeming pleased. "Good.
That's what I hoped you'd say. Will you take us there?"
Etain nodded. That needed no translation, and Riker stepped back to let her
by him, motioning the others to follow.
"Phasers on stun, and stay alert. We don't know if they've sensed us."
Etain saw several of them put their hands to the odd-looking devices which
hung from belts. Since they normally wore neither belts or devices, she had
wondered what they were. Matched with their actions, Riker's words seemed
to indicate that they were weapons of some sort. They looked ineffective,
having no sharp edge or point, and were too small to make an effective club.
Strange weapons for a strange people. She led them back the way they had
come, finally reaching the passage which led to the Ghost Gate after a good
half-hour's walk. It was slower going uphill. The side tunnel was small, and
only allowed them to walk single-file, and most of them had to stoop to avoid
the low ceiling. Etain felt momentarily superior that she did not, but then,
the passage had been built for her kind, not for humans.
###
As they neared Dhara once more, Etain felt the fine hairs on the back of her
neck rise and her skin began to prickle unbearably. With those symptoms
came sudden memory of the reason why this passage had been little used,
and why it was named the Ghost Gate. It was inhabited by a spirit which
caused discomfort to those who ventured too near. It had never harmed
anyone, but the discomfort was real enough. She glanced back at her
companions, wondering if they sensed it too, and from the frown on Riker's
face, judged that he, at least, had. The odd, pale being who seemed to have
no thoughts spoke suddenly.
"Commander, I am reading a very strong energy field here."
Riker seemed to relax. "That explains the sensations I've been feeling, then.
Is it a natural field, dilithium, or cordium?"
"No sir," Data replied. "It appears to be deliberately generated, the readings
follow too coherent a pattern for the source to be natural. I believe there is
a power conduit of some sort which parallels this passage."
"A power conduit? Whose, for god's sake? The Rua'Shi were bronze-age at
best!"
"Yes sir. However, as you recall, there is a high probability that they were
placed here by the Preservers, who often left behind devices using their
technology. This could be their work."
"Interesting. Haven't all the Preserver sites found to date been non-
functional?"
"That is correct, sir. It is unusual, however there appears to be a strong
probability that this site is still functioning."
Riker whistled, shaking his head. "Now that would be a find. Keep scanning,
let me know what you discover."
"Aye sir"
Etain had followed the conversation with some bewilderment. When they
had finished, she turned toward Deanna.
__Who are these 'Preservers' of whom they spoke? What have they to do
with Dhara, and the Kin? Why does this... energy field the Silent-one speaks
explain the ghost?__
Deanna chuckled. __It's no ghost, Etain. What you feel is the response of
your body to the energy present in this place.__
__I do not understand 'energy'.__
__Energy is what powers our ship, what makes the lights aboard it glow,
what powers the sun. There are many different ways to produce it, but that is
what we mean when we say energy.__
Etain nodded slowly, the concept somewhat clearer to her, but still not quite
real. There was so much to learn, too much. __And the Preservers, what are
they?__
Deanna hesitated a moment, then slowly responded. __We believe your
people may have been brought to this world long ago from somewhere else,
from another world, similar to this, possibly even the same world that Riker
and the Captain are from. There was a race of beings who did this with many
species, we call them The Preservers.__
Etain smiled. Finally, something she understood! __You speak of the Shining
Ones. Our songs tell of them, and of the long voyage from First Home to
Second Home, and finally, here, to Third Home. Before Second Home we
were round-eared, like you, and were unskilled in the Mind-ways. It was
there that the Shi came to us, and joined their blood to ours, changing us, and
them.__
The expression on the counselor's face was one of astonishment. __Have you
told the captain of this?__
Etain felt a moment's apprehension. __I did not, should I have? Did I do
wrong?__
Deanna hastened to reassure her. __No, no of course not. But tell me, why
didn't you tell him?"
Etain looked at her blankly for a moment, then shrugged. __He did not ask.
Is it important?__
__Perhaps. It would, at least, have confirmed our suspicions.__
__Oh.__ Etain paused a moment, then sent again. __You said First Home
might be the same world that Picard and Riker were born to?__
__Yes, my father was of that world as well.__
Etain sensed emotions as the dark-haired woman thought of her home, her
parents. They were confused, unclear, very unlike her usual even temper.
__You have difficulties, at home?__ she asked.
Deanna looked up, startled, and her eyes met Etain's in quick confirmation.
__How did you... of course. You have that gift as well. Telepathy and
empathy do not always go hand-in-hand,__ She smiled ruefully. __Yes, you
saw clearly. My mother, though I love her dearly, can be somewhat
overwhelming when she sets her mind to something.__
__And what she has set her mind to is at odds with your desires?__
__Precisely. She is especially forceful on the subject of grandchildren.__
Etain frowned thoughtfully, her gaze ranging to where Riker walked a few
steps behind them, then returning to Deanna. __I have seen couples on the
ship, and children...__ her implication was clear.
Deanna smiled. __True, but it isn't that simple. To be honest, I don't think
I'm quite ready for that yet.__
Etain's frown grew deeper. She inhaled deeply, as if testing for a certain
scent, and her gaze traveled Deanna's body before lifting again, puzzled.
__Forgive me, but it is clear that the Mother rules you. I do not understand
why you say you are unready.__
Deanna did not reply for so long that Etain wondered if she had somehow
offended the other woman. Finally the Counselor shook her head, obviously
puzzled.
__I think we have a clash of cultures here. I don't understand what you mean
when you say 'the Mother rules' me. Can you explain?__
Once more Etain's gaze swept her companion's body, the she looked down at
herself and touched her chest, then her hips. "You are...__ she paused in
frustration, unable to articulate the concept. She tried again. __Your body
is a woman's in all ways, unlike mine. She has not touched me as She has
you.__
Deanna stared, a slight frown marring the smoothness of her forehead. __I
still don't, no, wait, perhaps I do,__ The frown cleared and she smiled.
__Are you trying to say that I am fertile? Of childbearing age, past
menarche?__
Etain nodded eagerly. __Yes! Exactly!__
Deanna's smile grew gentler. __Etain, just because one is physically mature
does not mean one is emotionally ready to become a parent. Some people
never reach that state.__
Etain did not reply, mulling that concept. Since she had been so young when
the others had died, there were many things she did not understand, or only
dimly understood. Certain details of creating children were among them.
Although she had escaped from the Darkmind's prison before he could make
her a child forever, for some reason she had remained untouched by the
Mother's hand. She was half-woman, with age she had gained a slight depth
of breast and hip, but not the changes inside which would make her a
woman. Not that it mattered, there was no mate for her, no one to create a
child with. The only males of her kind left were forever children.
She stumbled over nothing, and blinked back tears until she could see clearly
again. What did it matter, this journey? Why did she lead these people into a
place that held nothing but silence, and never would? It was their kind who
had brought the silence in the first place. She stopped. The counselor
touched her shoulder reassuringly.
__It's alright, Etain, to be sad, to mourn for them. It's alright to be angry.
But remember. We are not one, we are individuals, every one of us different,
just as you are. Surely there were good and bad among your folk too."
Etain tried to remember, had there been? Yes. More than once Mhaiv had
been forced to use discipline. Solt, who had hurt a young woman who
refused him, Cyran who had stolen food others had prepared because she
was too lazy to prepare her own, angry Nela who had lifted his hand against
Mhaiv because he thought he knew more than she, who had lived through
four sleeps to his two! There had been a few, and she could see that left
unchecked, any of them, especially Sela, could have become kin to the
Darkmind. She sighed. She could not condemn all Tall Ones anymore than she
could honestly praise all her own folk. For a little while she had forgotten
their differences, now she was the one who felt different, alien. She pushed
herself away from the wall where she had leaned and looked back at the
others who were watching her anxiously. They were good, and they wanted
to help. She moved on.
She heard shimmer-skinned Data speaking quietly with Riker as they followed,
something about power again, and more words she did not fully comprehend,
because in the android she could not feel the thoughts which underlay the words.
It was strange to think of the Ghost as thoughtless energy. She had almost
enjoyed the fear of it, now there was only the discomfort without the spice of
the vaguely illicit. They did not like illusions, these First-World humans,
they preferred facts. She liked illusion, at least the illusion that
everything would somehow be right again. It was better than the bleak pain of
knowing it would not.
###
The gateway surprised her. She had been so deep in thought that she was
almost through it when she realized where she was. She stopped abruptly,
grabbed the edges of the gate and dug in her heels to keep the others from
pushing her through as they bumped into her, surprised by her sudden halt.
After a moment of confusion, they disentangled and Riker stepped forward,
obviously annoyed. Before he could speak she put her finger to her lips and
pointed. His annoyance disappeared.
"Dhara?" he whispered.
She nodded. He looked out, saw how little light there was in the vast cavern
and quietly told those carrying the lights to dim them, then he called Worf
forward.
"What are we facing, Worf, can you tell anything?"
The dark warrior held out his-strange box, waited a moment, then nodded, a
feral grin lifting one corner of his mouth. "Aye sir. Readings have cleared
considerably now. Thirty-one men total, placed randomly in groups of two
and three, all carrying standard security-forces phasers, one man alone near
the center of the cavern. We should have no problems."
"Good. Any sign that they are aware of us?"
"No sir. They are all within a few yards of the main gateway, in all
likelihood waiting for us to emerge. No doubt their sensors have as much
difficulty with the composition of the passage as ours did."
"No doubt. Well Mr. Worf, I leave it in your capable hands."
Etain watched Worf speak with the rest of the security detachment, low-
voiced and urgent, then he turned.
"We are ready sir. Non-security personnel will wait here until we signal that
is safe."
Etain sense a momentary surge of irritation in Riker, but he controlled it and
merely nodded. Worf and the others brushed past them as they slipped
quietly into the dimness. Etain watched intently, following Worf's mental
traces. She realized with a shock that he was pleased with his role. He
actually enjoyed this! She shook her head at the strangeness, wondering if all
his kind were so filled with violence. A harsh kind of existence at best, did
they never indulge in the quieter emotions?
A sudden shrill whine and burst of light made her wince, and within seconds
the air was full of such light and sound, and the startled cries of the men who
had waited in ambush. She felt the abrupt cessation of consciousness in first
one, then another, it seemed only a moment later when all was quiet. Etain
sensed the fierce-one's exultation and knew all had gone as he had planned.
But there was one mind still conscious, one dark, hot, hate-filled mind still
aware. She shuddered, and in concert with the spasm heard his voice, as
silken and menacing as she remembered.
"Come out little witch, I know you're there. Come face me."
Without thought she started forward, and then winced in pain as Riker
grabbed her, his big hands clamped hard around her upper arms. His gaze
was fierce as he shook her slightly, like a child.
"Don't. He's baiting you. Wait for Worf."
Etain struggled wildly against his strength, frantic to escape the memories it
stirred, until she realized he did not understand that she only wanted free
and would not run. She nodded to convey her comprehension and went still,
and gradually his grip loosened, then fell away. Another shudder racked her,
a bitter taste flooding her mouth as memories roiled and leapt within her.
She spat to keep from having to swallow, knowing if she did the nausea
would overwhelm her. The counselor's presence was a gentle reassurance
beside her, steadying. After a moment the sickness subsided and she turned
her attention outward, listening. There were footsteps, scuffling sounds, then
finally Worf spoke.
"I have him, sir. You can come down."
Riker's held breath sighed out and she felt him relax even though he was not
touching her. He picked up one of the cold torches and thumbed it to full
brightness, then ducked out, striding toward the sound of the Klingon's voice.
Deanna stopped her, her eyes concerned.
"Are you alright?" she asked gently.
Etain nodded, unable to bring herself to use mindspeech, knowing it would
convey far too much to the empath's sensitive mind. She forced herself to
step out, then stopped, letting the two physicians pass her. She managed to
stop trembling and walked stiffly, wondering why it was so dark, then she
realized that none of them knew how to awaken the lights. Glad for some
normal task, she sent out the command and was pleased when they
responded moments later. She had been half-afraid that they would no
longer answer her, she had changed so much since she had last commanded
them that she barely recognized herself.
She heard startled comments at the sudden brightening of the room. Deanna
looked at her oddly, but she chose to ignore it. She looked down into the
center of the cavern and stiffened. Worf held the Darkmind, inside the ring of
stones where only the Communcator and her kin should stand. As if that were
not bad enough, the long, flat central stone where Mhaiv's body had rested was
empty. Her stillness shattered, and she ran, passing Riker to skid to a halt
before the ardt-aa, looking vainly for the white cloth, for the slight brown
bones. There was nothing. A fire began to burn in her stomach and she turned,
fists clenched, toward the man who regarded her with a slightly amused air,
though his arms were locked behind him in sleek metal bands.
He smiled. "Looking for something?" he asked archly.
She opened her mouth to scream her question, and only a hiss of air emerged,
her throat working painfully as it tried to obey her impossible command. She
began to shake, and reached down to trail her fingers over the stone,
searching for some trace, some remnant. There was nothing. Only the stone
itself, oddly vibrant beneath her touch, warm, almost alive. As if through
water she heard him again.
"There was some trash there, I had it disposed of. Disgusting mess."
The burning grew stronger, centered between her breasts. It hurt. Tendrils of
heat seemed to slide upward from the stone, into her hands, pulsing through
her veins to merge with the heat below her heart. She winced, trying to pull
herself away from the ardt-aa, but could not seem to move. She heard
Deanna moan, and knew the empath felt her pain.
She closed her eyes, found the thread of awareness which tied her to the other
woman and snapped it. She was vaguely aware of Deanna slumping to the ground
near Riker, but knew she was essentially unhurt. Freed of that hindrance, she
looked up at the Darkmind and saw nothing but a man-shaped darkness, something
thick and swirling blackly, shot with red and purple. She would have cried out
if she had been able, the sight was so awful. In that instant she realized that
whatever he had once been, the Darkmind was no longer truly human.
"So little one, almost the last one left. Too bad you can't save the others.
You took so long getting here that they've run out of time."
Etain's vision snapped back to normal and she stared once again at a man.
An expression of mock-sorrow twisted his features. What did he mean? Who
was out of time, who couldn't she save? Others? Other what...? Then she
knew, and the moment she knew, she felt them die. Fire, sound, heat, pain
blasted through her mind and she arched in agony, feeling what the last of
her Kin felt in the last few seconds they were aware, as they died. The
moment seemed to last forever, but finally it faded, leaving a vast aching
emptiness where she had cherished those last few links, where all her dreams
had been.
She opened her eyes with difficulty, found herself on her knees beside the
ardt-aa, her palms still firmly planted on its hot surface, her cheek against
it, feeling almost blistered. She lifted her head slowly, and looked at Worf,
who seemed puzzled by her actions, then at Riker, who was trying to revive the
counselor, the gentleness of his touch betraying their former intimacy; past
him to the two physicians and the others. They seemed to move so slowly, as
if time moved only for her. She realized they did not know. Only she knew
what the monster had done. Finally her gaze came to rest on him as he stood
there gloating. Rage exploded through her, and as it did power poured into
her, drawn into that knot of fire that seemed to have become part of her.
Her hand lifted, almost of itself, reached, and touched. The Darkmind looked
startled, tried to draw back from the small hand on his chest, but like her he
seemed to be held fast by some force outside himself. She closed her eyes,
and reached out through herself, into him. She knew how to heal, she knew how
to turn pain to pleasure, it was such a small step to reverse those things.
She heard him gasp, and a part of her smiled. She worked harder, sending
impulses of agony shooting along nerve conduits.
__Hurt!__ she hurled at him. __Like you hurt me, and those I loved!__
She felt his shock, knew he had heard her. In the past few seconds, through
some agency she did not understand, she had grasped how to "speak" so that
others could hear. Even a being with almost no trace of Mind could hear when
you spoke with their own voice. He began to struggle, trying to pull away, tryi
ng to free himself, and suddenly she felt sick. It was wrong, to torment him.
What he had done deserved punishment, but to torture made her his equal. She
stopped the pain, felt him sag, gasping, yet still unable to move.
__I am the last.__ she spoke within him. __My foremothers are those who
decide, for generations and sleeps, by this right I judge you guilty of killing
without provocation, of killing innocents, not just one, but all my kind. There
will never again be a people of my blood, you have destroyed us past hope of
renewal. You have admitted these things of your own free will, you have
done these things of your own free will. What should your punishment be?__
She went into his mind, showed him what he had done, not in the smug,
pleased way he saw it, but as she did. She felt him recoil in shock from her
pain as her kin began to die, again when the handful she had saved were
taken, and changed, once more when he took her voice, and when by some
remote means, killed the last of them. She felt him writhe and struggle
against her memories, then finally he gave up.
__You decide,__ he said, surprising her. She had not thought he would
respond.
She shook her head. __It is your crime, it must be your punishment.__
She sensed fear, hesitation, then decision, followed closely by a furtive
pleasure.
__Death.__
__So be it.__
She found the great muscle of his heart, where it pumped the life-sustaining
blood, and stilled it with a thought. As she did, she was surrounded, caught
and held by the dominant memory that surfaced as his life began to fade.
She became a child, a small boy, crouched, crying beneath a table as he sought
to escape the pain inflicted, unimaginably, by the one being he had most
trusted. She heard the frantic child's cries, and the adult's hoarse, angry
bellows, and strained to make sense of the words. But it was not words that
finally made her understand. It was what she saw in the child's mind, the
despairing realization of difference, and the realization that difference was
bad... evil. The trusted-one, though he too had that same difference, would
never forgive that difference. That knowledge created an implacable resolve to
bury that difference so deeply that no one would ever know about it, and to
eradicate all traces of it in others. In that memory she found the birth of
his hate. In that moment she realized that he had in him the potential for the
Mindways, latent abilities so stunted and twisted she had never realized they
were there.
Remorse flooded through her, and she desperatedly tried to catch the fading
essence and pull it back. If that child still existed within the man, what he
had done was forgivable. A tendril of him reached out to her, and she
snatched at it, willing him to return, but the darkness in him surged upward,
triumphantly. Aghast, she realized that even now he sought to take her with
him. To completely rid his world of the 'evil' as he had meant to do years
before. Frantically she yanked herself away from the darkness.
With a physical shock as painful as a blow, she found herself back in her own
body, lying across the hot stone, Deanna and the Vulcan physician Selar
leaning over her. Slowly she turned her head and saw a crumpled figure a
few feet away, the other doctor kneeling beside it. She did not need to ask to
know he was dead. Deanna's face was drawn and tight, not even her rare
control could keep her shock and dismay from showing.
Etain looked away, feeling a dull sense of shame. She had killed. She had
judged and killed, and she had no right. The last with that right had died
twenty years earlier. She had called the ardt-aa's power, and it had woken for
her, but now she had to pay the price for using it uncleanly. She knew now,
that she should not have judged him without finding the reason behind his
actions. What she had done was not just. Had he lived, he could have been
eased, and in that ease he would have found the remorse she sought.
She sat up, pushed her hair back with fingers that were reddened and
swollen, as if she had held them too long near a fire. Her cheek smarted, and
she ached all over, if such a thing were possible she would have said her
mind felt swollen as well. Her head ached and swam with strange thoughts,
half-formed knowledge that she could not seem to focus, things knew she had
not known before. She saw the physician and the counselor exchange a
glance, and then Deanna spoke, aloud.
"How do you feel?"
Etain looked at her, trying to convey her regret, her pain, but knew that
nothing could do that. After a moment she shrugged and swung her feet
over the side of the stone and stood, swaying slightly, feeling dizzy and light-
headed. She walked to where the Darkmind's body lay and stood for a
moment, looking down at him. The human physician looked up at her and
shook his head.
"He's dead, heart failure. It's odd, though, I don't detect any previous
scarring which would indicate a heart condition."
She nodded just to give him a response, though she knew that already. For a
moment she stood, indecisive, then she drew her broken-tipped blade from its
sheath, cut off a lock of her hair, and held it out and let it go to drift down
onto the still figure, saying in her mind what she remembered of the ritual
which ended blood-feud.
__With me, let it end. With you, let it end. Let no other take up this
contest, no other. It is ended.__
For a moment longer she stood, feeling all eyes on her, then she turned and
looked at Deanna, touched her chest, then pointed up. She had to return to
the Enterprise, her few things were there, and she needed them to do what
had to be done.
Deanna seemed to understand her reticence to communicate telepathically
and nodded. "Of course. They can finish-up here, I'll go up with you and
we'll return to the ship to begin collecting the others."
Etain stared at the counselor blankly. What others? Then suddenly she
understood. She had felt them die because she was linked to them. The
counselor had been half-unconscious when the Darkmind had killed them,
and did not know. None of them knew. Slowly she shook her head, tears
rising uncontrollably. She pointed at the body on the ground, then stopped,
knowing there was no way to communicate what she needed in sign.
Cautiously she shaped the knowledge and opened just enough to send it.
Deanna winced in pain.
"I'm sorry, I can't understand you."
Etain tried again. It was hard to concentrate with all the strangeness inside
her head. She seemed unable to focus, and just attempting what little she had
made her head hurt even worse. Again the counselor flinched as she
attempted to listen.
"Is something wrong, Etain? What I'm getting makes no sense, it's just harsh,
broken images, and pain."
Etain sat down on the ardt-aa to keep her knees from buckling and raised her
hands helplessly. There was nothing else she could do. She hurt too much to
try and find some other way to communicate. Deanna face swam as she
leaned closer, concern etched on her classic features.
"Etain? Doctor Selar! I think something's wrong. Would you mind
checking?"
The tall Vulcan woman stepped close, bending as she leveled her chirping
device at Etain. After a moment she shook her head, her short, sleek hair
swinging with her movement. "There are slight burns on her hands and one
cheek. I read nothing else."
"Nothing? What about brain function, alpha rhythms?"
Selar looked down her nose at the counselor, one eyebrow lifted. "Without a
previous scan to compare it to, such a reading would be useless."
Deanna flushed. She knew that, but concern had prompted her to question
anyway. She turned back to Etain. "Can you walk? It's a long way back to
the surface."
Etain thought about it, and slowly nodded. Walking did not require much
thought. She could manage it. Probably.
"Good. I'll speak with Commander Riker and be right back."
Etain watched her go, staring, feeling half-witted. She wanted to sleep. Just
sleep. Deanna spoke seriously to Riker, who then waved two of the others
over. They nodded to whatever it was he told them, then the three of them
approached Etain. She stood, slowly, as they neared, and then fell into step
beside them as Deanna beckoned her.
###
Riker watched Etain follow Deanna toward the underground city's main gate.
Deanna was right, the young woman didn't look normal. In fact, she looked
like nothing so much as the classic video zombie, plodding with glazed eyes
and lifeless expression. He scowled. How was he going to explain this?
Delvekia dropping dead of a heart-attack seemed too opportune. He was
almost certain that Etain had somehow caused it, but he had no way to prove
it either. And could he blame her if she had? After what he had done to her
people, to her? He knew he wouldn't, but would an inquest be so lenient?
Picard would not be pleased with the results of this mission.
"Commander Riker?"
Glad of the distraction, Riker looked up. "Yes Data?"
"I have found something interesting here, I believe that the central stone of
this grouping is not a stone at all, and in fact may be a Preserver artifact."
Riker's interest was kindled. He stared at the slate-colored slab in the
center of the circle for a moment. It seemed no different from the others
which formed the Stonehenge-like array. Shifting his attention back to the
android, he lifted his brows.
"What makes you think so?"
"I was monitoring the area with my tricorder, and each time I passed this
particular stone, the energy readings jumped noticeably. If you follow the
path of the energy conduit we found earlier, it terminates here. Also, just
before Minister Delvekia succumbed, the readings went completely off the
scale. It is my belief that Etain's presence may have triggered some process,
some energy surge which may have resulted in Delvekia's death."
A sense of relief flooded Riker. If Delvekia's death had been the result of
some accidental discharge of energy, that would solve a lot of problems.
Then he remembered something.
"The power surge, did it occur while Etain was on the stone?"
"Energy levels had been increasing before she touched it, but the primary
surge began when she first touched it, and ended approximately the same
time that she regained consciousness. It is still registering some residual
energy."
"Hmm." He turned and glanced around until he found Selar who was
examining a small white-wrapped parcel of something outside the circle.
"Doctor Selar, if you would?"
Selar straightened stiffly, her expression faintly annoyed, as if she were
reluctant to be called from her find. She did not move to meet Riker as he
walked toward her, waiting for him to reach her.
"Lieutenant Selar." he began with deliberate emphasis on her rank, as a subtle
reprimand. "You examined Etain a few moments ago. What were your
findings?"
"Nothing, sir, save for slight burns on her palms and left cheek. The
counselor wanted me to check alpha-wave function, but that would have
been useless without a cross-reference. Brain-activity seemed high, but
within normal parameters."
Riker exchanged a glance with Data, who nodded.
"The burns could have been caused by the energy field."
"My thoughts exactly, but what else did it do?"
"Pardon me, sir?"
"Deanna said Etain was acting strange, seemed unable to communicate,
listless, not herself. Could it have," he groped for a word, then went on,
"...influenced her?"
"Influenced her in what way, Commander?"
"If she's dangerous, and we just sent her up to the ship..."
Data considered for a moment, then shook his head. "I do not believe that to
be the case. The evidence is almost conclusive that the Rua'Shi are a Preserver
colony, and that the colony's Preserver technology is still functional. It is
far more likely that the device is instructional or protective. From what we
have learned of the Preservers the only weaponry of any kind they left at their
sites was engineered strictly for defense, never offense. If we could find the
control center, I might be able to learn the precise function of this object."
Riker knew a hint when he heard one. "Find it, Data, and quickly. In the
meantime I'll have Worf send someone to the surface to let the Enterprise
know they should keep a close watch on her, just in case."
Data nodded and returned to the center of the circle. Riker watched him for a
moment, then turned to Selar who was kneeling once more, unwrapping the white
bundle he had noticed earlier. He experienced a moment of child-like terror
as she carefully opened the cloth to expose a brown skull staring up at him
from a pile of disarticulated bones. He shook the fear off, after all, they
had come to find bones.
"Rua'Shi?" he queried, though the size of the skull told him it likely was.
Selar lifted the skull carefully and passed her tricorder around it. After a
moment she nodded. "Yes. In fact, the genetic pattern is so like Etain's
that they could almost be clones. They must have been terribly inbred."
He watched a moment longer as she respectfully examined the pile of bones,
wondering what it was she looked for. After a moment she sighed.
"Unfortunately she is too badly broken up for me to readily ascertain what
killed her. Odd, though, these fractures are fresh. This breakage happened
recently, within the past week."
"Or within the past day?" Riker asked, more of himself than her. Etain had
seemed to search the stone, device, he corrected himself. Delvekia had
spoken about having something disposed of. Could these fragile bones be
what Etain had searched for?
"Quite possibly today. Sir, I recommend that we bring down an
anthropological team as well, there is a great deal here that would be of
interest to them."
"Noted, lieutenant."
"There is one other thing of interest here. Look." She held out the skull,
turning it so that the light played off something that shone iridescently from
the temple area. He leaned closer, and saw that what looked like a small
piece of crystal was imbedded in the bone.
"What is it? Some sort of posthumous decoration?"
"No, sir. This was done while the being was alive, and he or she lived for
many years after it was done. See how the bone has grown around it? It
cannot have been decorative, since the crystal would have been covered by
skin."
"Any theories as to what it is?"
"Not at the moment, but I will investigate further."
"Good. Carry on."
###
It had been over two hours since the away-team had beamed down to the
planet's surface. Picard knew that wasn't an unreasonable amount of time, he
also knew that they would have to send someone to the surface to contact the
ship, because of the sensor difficulties. Still, he couldn't help being
concerned. After Guinan's enigmatic warning, he had more than the usual
cause. On the main viewscreen Halvam rotated slowly, blue, green, white
and tan against its backdrop of stars. If he hadn't known better, he might
have thought it was Earth. He thought for a moment on the message he had
sent, encoded, to Starfleet Command, detailing the situation. He should be
hearing back from them shortly. He had requested that they forward his
findings to the Federation High Council, and he fully expected they would
begin a full investigation. He didn't envy Nor Kelssohn. Even if the man was
not involved in Coran Delvekia's schemes, Halvam would never be the same.
Things were about to change, and drastically.
The bridge was quiet, almost too quiet. He stood up and idly circled the
bridge, glancing at monitors, looking for some sort of distraction. At the
security station, he finally found one. The ensign who manned it seemed
intent on something, attention focused on a thermal map of the planet below.
Picard studied the display over his shoulder, wondering what he was so
intent on.
"Something interesting, Ensign Chavez?"
To his credit the young man didn't jump, only looked up, nodding.
"Yes, sir. An explosion and fire, a large one, on the western outskirts of
Terrestria."
For some reason Picard tensed. "How close is that location to the beam-down
point?"
Chavez shook his head. "I computed that immediately, and it's nowhere near.
About three kilometers north, sir. Planetary authorities have identified the
site as an abandoned storage facility."
Picard relaxed slightly. "Good. So, why the interest?"
"The temperature of the fire, and the pattern of spread, sir. I would guess
the fire was set using incendiaries, possibly even an energy device of some
sort," he shook his head. "If someone's trying insurance fraud, they were
pretty careless about it. There's no way this fire was natural."
"Interesting. Note your observations in the security log. We may want to
send a copy to the Halvami authorities, though they are probably well able to
make such a determination themselves. And, Ensign Chavez, good work. I
doubt many would have noticed."
The young man seemed pleased. "Thank you, sir, I guess it comes naturally.
On my homeworld, my mother is a fire-fighter, and my father's an arson
investigator."
Picard smiled. "That would tend to influence one. Please inform me at once
when the away-team reestablishes contact."
"Certainly, sir."
Picard resumed his seat, trying not to let his distubance show.
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 10
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:45:18 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER TEN
Data scanned the area, looking for clues to the location of the control
complex. The power conduit he had noted earlier ran below ground directly
from the passageway to the central "stone", which was of a different
composition than the other stones of the grouping. He noted that the
arrangement of stones was typical of ancient lithic monuments of north-
eastern Europe and Great Britain on Earth; a circle of roughly rectangular
menhirs set vertically, with a central stone which lay horizontally. Usually
such arrangements on Earth had been primitive astronomical observatories,
but these could serve no such function, as they lay far below the surface
where the sky was never visible.
As he studied the menhirs one by one, he realized that the stones bore fusing
marks, they had been cut using a beam-device similar to a phaser, not hand-
hewn with primitive tools. Since the Rua'Shi had no such technology, he
thought it probable that the Preservers had set up the circle, for whatever
reason they might have had, probably communication with the Rua'Shi. He
reviewed the paper he had read of a Preserver remnant culture discovered by
a previous Enterprise. Their records were still the basis for most formal study
of the beings known as the Preservers. The Preservers had left an obelisk on
that world which had served such a function, as well as being a type of
reverse tractor beam which protected the planet against the meteoric debris
the system was full of.
Satisfied that the outer circle held no clues for him, Data proceeded to the
central stone. It was three meters long, a meter and a half wide, and about a
meter tall. The upper surface of the stone overhung the base by about three
centimeters, forming a table-like lip. Cautiously he placed his palm against
it, and found it's ambient temperature still fifteen-point-six degrees higher
than that of the surrounding menhirs. The surface was flat, almost polished,
with a metallic blue-black sheen. It was metaloceramic in composition,
containing traces of gold, copper oxide, yttrium and molybdenum. All highly
conductive elements. Finding nothing of special interest on its upper surface,
he knelt beside the stone and searched carefully for markings. Immediately
he found that the edge of the lip was incised in a centimeter-wide band. He
noted with interest that the symbols were not the flowing interlaced designs
he had noted in the passage, but small, regular, slightly angular markings
grouped together. Writing. To be precise, extremely archaic Vulcan.
A human would have probably have expressed some elation upon finding the
marks, but Data refrained, having not yet developed an expression of
pleasure he believed appropriate to him. It took only moments to decipher
the words, which were repeated twenty-one times in a band around the edge
of the artifact. He wondered what significance the number of repetitions
held.
"Who moves me moves the world." he read aloud, tilting his head to one
side, quizzically. Could it be that simple? It seemed too easy, but he had to
try. Experimentally he braced his feet, placed his hands against the stone and
pushed. It moved. Not much, but it definitely moved. A human's strength
would probably not have moved it, but his was enough. Apparently it was
hollow, had it been solid his push would not have been sufficient to move it.
He stood up and looked around, spotting Riker and Worf within seconds.
"Commander Riker, Lieutenant Worf, I believe I have found something."
He waited patiently for the other officers to arrive, and then motioned for
Worf to take one end of the stone while he lifted the other. Together they
managed to shift the stone a meter to the left, exposing a large opening and a
set of stairs leading down. Yellow light glowed diffusely from within.
Curious, Data knelt at the opening, trying to see down the stairs. They were
shallow, and led into a large room, but because of the angle he could not
make out much else. There was no indication of danger, no abnormal
readings of any kind, though he could detect at least one substantial power
source. He looked up at Riker.
"Permission to investigate, sir?"
Riker hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Permission granted."
Data nodded, stood, and had taken a step forward, when Riker spoke again.
"And Mr. Data... be careful."
Data was about to reply that he was always careful, when he realized with
furtive gratification that Riker's words had been prompted by concern for his
well-being, not by concern for the Preserver installation. He attempted a
smile. "Thank you sir."
Riker nodded. "Wait, I want try a communicator check before you get too far,
say, ten meters?"
"Yes sir. Ten meters." Data continued his descent.
###
The chamber which the stairs opened onto was huge, Data suspected it underlay
the entire city-cave above it. Most of the space was occupied by box-like
objects of what appeared to be translucent black glass, having approximately
the same basic dimensions as the central stone; three meters by a meter and a
half, by a meter. The boxes were stacked four and five deep, in rows that went
past his visual acuity range. He noticed with interest that their surfaces
were free of dust, reflecting his image, multiplying it, indicating careful air
filtration. He stepped closer and scanned one, found it was empty. The
interior was yeilding to the touch, and molded, as if to conform to the contours
of a human body. They closely resembled sickbay stasis units, and he suspected
that was their function. He checked several rows, and found them all empty.
Scanning the room with his tricorder, he found two strong power sources, and
worked his way through the rows of gleaming glass until he located the first,
a large chamber whose stasis fields were still intact. Through the shimmering
fluctuations of the fields, he could see shelves holding thousands of small
containers. Evidently whoever had built the chamber considered the containers
contents important, since there were three stasis fields stacked, like layers
of bubbles, to protect them.
"Data?" A voice queried, Commander Riker's voice. Data realized he had
been so involved in satisfying his curiosity that he had neglected the
communicator check. He tapped his combadge.
"Here, sir. Are you receiving my transmission?"
Riker sounded relieved. "Yes, your signal is clear."
"Good. I have encountered nothing dangerous so far. Most of the room is
occupied by what appear to be individual stasis units. I have located one
functioning stasis chamber, and a second power source a few meters further
on. I am preparing to investigate it now."
Continuing on toward the second of the two power sources, he passed at least
fifty rows of empty stasis boxes before coming upon a large open area. In the
center of the space was an object which looked more like a piece of art than
anything functional. He scanned it, and lifted his eyebrows in surprise, then
he tapped his combadge.
"Commander Riker, I have located the second power source."
"Report."
"It is roughly cubical, four meters square. It is constructed of a crystalline
substance which conducts and transmits energy with great efficiency. The
external surface is faceted, multicolored, and there appear to be symbols of
some sort on portions of it. It is also surrounded by a force field of stun-
level intensity. If I am not mistaken, this is the primary control unit. I
will attempt closer investigation."
"Do you think that wise, Data?"
"The field should not affect me, sir."
"'Should not', not 'will not'?" Riker asked, pointedly.
"There is always the possibility that it may increase the intensity of the
field if I attempt to breach it."
"Wait there, we're coming down."
Data waited. Moments later Riker and Worf joined him. Riker circled the
object, studying it. He frowned. "What makes you think this is the control
unit?"
"It is utilizing a tremendous amount of power, and it is the only device in
sensor range which has a force-shield. Also, it bears some resemblance to
Preserver control units found on other worlds, though it appears to be
considerably more sophisticated. Perhaps that explains why it is still
functional."
"Perhaps." Riker looked at it for a moment longer, then shifted his gaze to
Data and nodded. "Go ahead."
"Yes, sir."
He stepped forward and tentatively put his fingers against the outer edge of
the shield. He experienced a vague crawling sensation on his hand, and
wondered if it was similar to the sensation humans called a 'tickle'. When no
increase in the field's activity occurred, he pushed past the gentle resistance
and stepped into the field.
Nothing unusual happened, save for the momentary illusion of a flash of light
as he passed the boundary, caused by the interaction of the field with his
optic sensors. He was somewhat surprised that it had not been more difficult.
Moving closer, he began to translate the markings. After a moment he turned
to face Riker again.
"I am certain that this is the control unit. The symbols on it are virtually
identical to those recorded elsewhere."
"Can you read them?"
"No sir. It is not a matter of reading, but of interpreting. The Preservers
used tonal communication. I must find the correct basal tone in order to
interpret the symbols."
"How long do you think it will take?"
"I have no way of estimating that at this time. The device on Cygnus One was
inadvertantly triggered by the use of a communicator whose tones duplicated
the necessary activation sequence."
Riker glanced down at his combadge, and looked up again, grinning. "Well,
it's worth a try." He tapped the device and it emitted its customary chirp.
Nothing happened. He sighed. "Oh well. I guess it's back to basics. Do you
need anything?"
"No sir, I can use the tricorder to generate frequencies. Dr. Selar may wish
to inspect the stasis boxes. There is a high probability that they are the
ones used in transporting the original Rua'Shi to Halvam, though I do not know
why they were left here. She may also be able to determine what the still-
functional unit contains, I believe they are probably biological, otherwise the
stasis field would be unnecessary."
Riker nodded. "I'll send her down. Worf, post a guard down here to keep an
eye on things, since Data will be occupied."
"Aye, sir." Worf headed back toward the stairs to call one of his men. Riker
stood for a moment watching Data adjust his tricorder. Data looked up,
curiously.
"Is there something else, sir?"
"No, Mr. Data, carry on." he turned and followed Worf, leaving Data alone.
###
Riker's hesitation in leaving Data alone was based solely on his desire to
avoid reporting to Picard for a few more minutes. He had already sent the
captured Halvami security men up, and Deanna had taken Etain back as well,
so by now the Captain had to have some idea of what had occurred. He
realized he had erred in not separating Etain and Delvekia as soon as their
confrontation began, and was certain that she had been instrumental in
Delvekia's death. Not that he blamed her, but it was going to be hard to
explain.
He stood at the top of the staircase watching the medical and anthropological
teams as they searched the dwellings for Rua'Shi corpses to scan. He spotted
Dr. Selar and called to her. She turned, and made her way down to where he
stood, glancing curiously into the opening left when Data had moved the
altar-like central stone.
"Sir?"
"How is it going?"
"Very well. We have been able to determine that all the Rua'Shi found so far
died of the same thing, an pneumonic bacteria with familial resemblences to
both Terran plague, and a Terran diptheria. The fact that both diseases are of
Earth origin is particularly revealing. The carrier-DNA appeares to have been
engineered to be species-particular, and there are signature structures which
appear on several strands. If we can access the records of the Halvami gene-
tech firms we should be able to match them."
"Excellent Lieutenant, that's exactly what we're looking for. Mr. Data has
located a second chamber below the city, which contains what he believes to
be Preserver artifacts. He also located a stasis chamber which he thought you
might like to take a look at, he said he believes it contains biologicals of
some kind."
Her expression lightened slightly. "Interesting. I will go at once."
Riker stepped aside to let her pass. "It's about twenty meters down the left-
hand aisle. You can't miss it."
She nodded her thanks and brushed past him as she hurried down into the
sub-chamber. Worf approached with two of his security team, and sent them
below as well. Feeling a little left out, he turned to Worf.
"I'm going above to report to the Captain. Is everything in hand here?"
"Yes sir, we should have no difficulties while you are gone."
"Thank you, Lieutenant, carry on."
Worf nodded and took up a sentry-stance at the head of the stairwell. Riker
headed for the main passage, where he paused a moment to check his locator
to be sure it was registering the markers they had left along the way. It was.
He had no excuse. With a sigh he started up toward the surface.
###
Picard heard the security station summons and swung around, looking up at
Chavez as he quickly dispatched a security team to one of the Transporter
rooms. That accomplished, he stepped forward to report.
"Captain, Chief O'Brien reports that most of the security team has returned,
with thirty members of the Halvami Security Forces in detention. Counselor
Troi and the..." he paused, at a loss.
"Etain?" Picard guessed.
Chavez nodded, gratefully. "Yes, sir. She and the Counselor have returned
as well."
"But not Commander Riker, or Lieutenant Worf, or the medical personnel?"
"No, sir, not yet."
Picard frowned thoughtfully, wondering what was going on, but not overly
concerned, since those returning would have already reported any serious
problem. After a moment, he touched the communications pad on the arm of
the conn.
"Counselor Troi, report."
"Troi here, sir." Her voice sounded strained. His frown grew deeper.
Something was wrong. Perhaps not significantly so, but he didn't want to
take chances.
"I would like to see you in my ready room at your earliest convenience,
counselor."
"Yes, sir. I will be there as soon as I see to Etain."
"Is there a problem?"
"I... would prefer to discuss it with you personally, Captain. I will only be
a few moments."
His frown became a scowl. "Of course, Counselor."
He sat for a moment, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, irritated,
then stood and nodded to Geordi at the Engineering console.
"You have the conn, Mr. LaForge."
Geordi nodded, and moved to assume the chair. Picard stalked past him
toward his sanctuary of his ready-room, trying not to let his temper get out of
hand. It always annoyed him when he was unable to garner needed
information as quickly as he desired it.
###
Deanna stood outside Picard's door for a moment to compose herself before she
touched the button that would signal her presence. Normally she wasn't the
one who would be reporting on the mission to Picard, that duty usually fell to
Will, or Worf. She wasn't sure how much to tell him. Should she limit
it to facts, or include her own, less-documentable perceptions? She was fairly
certain that Etain had actually killed Coran Delvekia. How, she wasn't sure,
but Etain's actions and reactions had been too obvious for her not to have
been involved.
She was also afraid that something was seriously wrong with the young woman's
mind, as she suddenly seemed to have lost the ability to communicate. If she
had killed Delvekia the withdrawal might be voluntary, or psychosomatic, rather
than physiological, but she had left Etain in sickbay with Beverly's assistant,
Dr. Naraian, just to be sure. She would have preferred to leave her in Beverly
Crusher's care, but she was off-shift and not due back for another hour.
Resolute, she touched the annunciator and seconds later the door slid open
and she stepped inside, hoping she didn't look as apprehensive as she felt.
Picard's attention was focused on a small datapad, he keyed in a sequence,
then looked up. She sensed that he had been giving her time to prepare,
which reassured her somewhat.
"So, counselor, what happened? Something obviously did, as I understand
we now have thirty Halvami Security Forces men in detention, yet no one
appears to have been seriously hurt."
"One person was killed, captain... or rather, one person is dead. We aren't
entirely certain how it happened."
"Who?" He snapped, leaning forward.
"Coran Delvekia."
Picard's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
She took a deep breath, and started from the point when Etain had sensed the
trap. When she finished, he sat there for some time before he spoke.
"I have some difficulty believing that Delvekia conveniently dropped dead of
a heart-attack. What was your impression?" he asked, eyeing her shrewdly.
She looked away, knowing he had considerable emotional investment in
Etain and not wanting to see his face when she told him what she feared. "I...
think that Etain was responsible, Captain. I don't know how, or why, but I
feel she was involved in it."
"Any evidence?" he asked, without a pause, his voice even.
She looked back at him. Only the slight tension in his jaw betrayed him.
"No, sir, just a feeling. Since it happened she has been unable, or unwilling,
to communicate with me, even through sign. When I attempt to read her, all I
get is confusion, chaos, pain. I left her in sickbay, hoping they could find
some reason for it."
He nodded. "Thank you counselor, that will be all."
She turned to go, then stopped. "Sir..., there is one other thing. After she
severed contact with me, I continued to receive some scattered impressions,
though I was still trying to cope with the psychic backlash. What I felt was
death. Not just one person, many, an impression of great heat, and sound. I
didn't have time to comprehend it, but I feel it may have had something to do
with what happened."
Picard leaned forward, interested. "Could she have been reliving the deaths
of the Rua'Shi twenty years ago? Being in the city again might have triggered
such a memory."
Deanna thought about it for a moment, then slowly shook her head. "No. It
was no memory. It was too fresh, too immediate. I don't think it was that.
Besides, this was not death due to illness. It was sudden, violent."
"I see." He paused a moment, then a strange expression came over his face.
"Ensign Chavez monitored a large explosion and fire on the surface, on the
outskirts of Terrestria, about half an hour ago. Halvami authorities
identified the site as an abandoned warehouse complex."
Deanna felt a sinking sensation. "When I mentioned coming back to the ship
to begin bringing the others aboard, she tried to communicate with me. I
couldn't understand what she was trying to tell me, but whatever it was hurt
terribly."
Their eyes met in silent communication. Deanna shook her head, rejecting the
idea. "No, he wouldn't have..."
"I'm afraid it's all too likely." Picard said grimly. He stood up. "She's in
sickbay?"
Deanna nodded. "I'll come with you. I may be needed."
###
Etain was sitting on one of the sickbay tables, her face expressionless and
pale. Picard and Troi started toward her, but were intercepted by Doctor
Naraian who pulled them aside. The stocky Nepalese physician glanced at
her, then back at them, shaking his head.
"I found little physically wrong with her, just slight burns, the equivalent of
a mild sunburn, on her hands and one side of her face. I've treated those,
they were nothing to worry about. Her mental state is another matter. I would
say she has suffered some non-physical traumatic shock. She is unresponsive
and listless, though tests indicate no neurological damage, indeed, her brain
activity is extremely high, almost surprisingly so, considering her state.
What happened down there?"
Deanna opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again. She really didn't
know what had happened, she only suspected.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, I'm not certain. May we speak to her?"
He sighed. "You can try. I have. It's as if she doesn't hear me, though I
know otherwise."
The three of them moved to stand close to her, Deanna tried first, putting her
hand lightly on Etain's shoulder. Etain reacted to that, flinching away from
her touch, and Deanna let her hand fall instantly, and tried a different
approach.
"Etain? Can you hear me?"
She remained motionless, gaze fixed on some distant, unseeable point.
Deanna looked at Picard and shook her head.
"Just like before. She doesn't want to hear me. You try."
He nodded. "Etain. I need to talk to you."
She blinked, and seemed to waver for a moment, then slowly turned her head
toward him, her gaze slightly more aware than before. Deanna nodded at
Picard encouragingly. He thought for a moment, then spoke again.
"Etain, I must know. The others, the remaining Rua'Shi. Are they alive?"
She shuddered visibly, and for a moment full awareness returned to her face,
etching lines of pain and despair across her elfin features. Minutely, she
shook her head, then deliberately turned away, the blankness washing back
over her.
Deanna blinked back sudden tears. Picard swore softly. The doctor looked
from one to the other, puzzled.
"What are the Rua'Shi?" he asked.
"They are..." Picard stopped, closed his eyes for a moment, then corrected
himself, his voice low, pained. "... were, her people. A people who lived on
this world for thousands of years before it was colonized. There were only a
few besides herself left alive, now that they are gone, she is the last. He
managed to do it after all, he's killed all of the Rua'shi except Etain. Damn!
We should have brought the others aboard for protection, even if we did not
yet have sufficient proof of Delvekia's crime to arrest him."
He suddenly found himself remembering Guinan's warning. Something bad
indeed. If only her warning had been more specific! He reached out to Etain,
to offer support, but drew back his hand before he actually touched her,
remembering her reaction to Deanna's contact. If she had flinched from a
woman, surely a man's touch would be worse, and he had made a promise to her.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand..." the doctor began. Deanna took him aside to
explain, leaving Picard alone with Etain.
He watched her for a moment, then moved until he knew he was within her
field of vision, and lowered his voice so that only she could hear him.
"I must know this as well, did you kill Delvekia?"
She shuddered, then lifted her gaze to his face and nodded again, eyes fixed
on his. She was obviously afraid, but strangely calm. He sighed. "I was
afraid of that." A thought occurred to him, giving him some hope. "Was it an
accident?"
She shook her head, still grave. Was he imagining he saw remorse in her face,
or not? He wasn't certain. Rubbing his forehead abstractedly, he wished he
had ignored Riker's prohibitions and gone with the away team. He probably
could have prevented the ensuing fiasco. He turned back to Etain.
"It seems I am always trying to apologize to you for things that can never be
forgiven, or forgotten. All I have are words, and they can't mean very much
right now. I should never have let you go down there... " he broke off as
shook her head, and with a peculiar smile put one finger to her lips.
He nodded, smiling wryly. He was babbling, something he had a propensity
for, when unsettled. "Of course. Do you want someone to stay with you?
Deanna, Guinan, myself?"
She shook her head again, then looked around, frowning. She touched her
chest, then pointed toward the door. He understood immediately.
"I see no difficulty in that, if the Doctor agrees."
He turned toward Naraian who had been watching them with interest.
"Etain would like to go to her quarters, she doesn't feel comfortable here.
Can she?"
Naraian hesitated, then nodded. "I suppose. There's nothing physically
wrong with her, no medical reason to keep her here, however I think it would
be wise for Counselor Troi to check on her periodically. Once the shock
wears off, she'll have need of her."
"Of course." Deanna said, bristling just a little. "I would have done so
anyway."
Picard turned back to Etain, found her standing somewhat unsteadily beside
the table she had been sitting on. Once again he reached to offer her his
support, and drew back, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry. It's difficult to remember. May I walk you to your quarters?"
She nodded, and took a step, then stopped, and hesitantly reached out to him.
Surprised, he extended his arm, and she took it, a little gingerly, and they
moved off together, Deanna trailing behind. The doctor watched them go,
the expression on his round face troubled. He made a few notes on his
datapadd and crossed the room to check on one of his other patients.
###
After settling Etain in her quarters, Picard motioned for Troi to accompany
him as he walked, but did not speak. While they waited for the turbolift, he
locked his hands behind his back and planted his feet firmly apart in the
posture he tended to adopt when facing an unpleasant decision. Deanna
suspected she knew what it was he found unpleasant. The lift arrived and
they stepped inside, finding they had it to themselves. Picard resumed his
earlier stance, and spoke the destination perfunctorily. After a moment, he
shook his head.
"Hold."
The lift slowed and stopped. He turned to Deanna, his expression
unreadable.
"She did kill him, and it was no accident."
Deanna felt a small shock, despite having expected it. "She told you?"
He nodded. "I asked her, she admitted it. What to do now? We have a
Federation Special Counsel on the way to review the situation who will be
here in a matter of hours. Delvekia's death complicates things immensely.
We cannot lie about it."
The fact that he said that meant he had, if only for a moment, considered it.
She was deeply surprised, but tried not to show it.
"Of course not. I suspect, though, that given the extenuating circumstances,
she would not be dealt with harshly. I can attest to the mental strain she has
been under, that perhaps at that moment, she was not entirely in her right
mind. Who would be?"
He stared thoughtfully at nothing for a moment, then sighed. "I suspect
you're right. No one would condemn her, knowing what he had done." he
shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated roll, trying to ease the tension he
carried there, then spoke again. "Resume."
The turbolift accelerated smoothly.
"Captain?" she began, tentatively, not knowing quite how to broach the
subject she wanted to discuss. His personal feelings toward Etain.
"Yes, Counselor?" His walls were back, hiding everything behind a sheet of
reserve.
Her nerve failed. "If there is anything I can do to help, let me know."
"I will, Counselor. Rest assured."
She wasn't reassured. His damnable control made him such a difficult man to
try to interact with! She sometimes wished he would, just once, give some of
those emotions free rein. It wasn't healthy to keep everything inside. She
sighed.
"Counselor?" he queried, eyeing her quizzically. That particular look always
made her think of a curious hawk.
"Nothing, sir," she lied. "Just tired, that's all."
His expression softened. "Why don't you go to your quarters? It's been a
difficult day, and I'm sure you could use some time to rest."
"And you?"
"I'll wait for Commander Riker to return, and work on the summary for the
Special Prosecutor. My day has not been as eventful as yours."
"I wouldn't say that, the events have simply been different."
He shot her a slightly puzzled look and shrugged. "Perhaps, but I have work
to do." The turbolift slowed, stopped, and the doors opened onto the bridge.
Picard stepped out and turned to face her.
"Thank you, counselor. Have a pleasant rest."
Deanna nodded acknowledgement as the doors closed. In her mind, she
counted slowly to ten. It didn't help. She grimaced, realizing she was more
irritated with herself than him. Why was it so hard to make herself confront
him? It was her job!
"Damn it!" she swore aloud, just to let off steam.
"Destination not known, please repeat."
She glared up at the speaker. Sometimes the computer's voice was uncannily
similar to her mother's.
"Deck eight."
The lift began to move again. Deanna brooded.
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 11
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:45:32 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Captain?"
Picard turned, momentarily startled, then smiled in greeting. "Guinan! Away
from your post, aren't you?" he asked, indicating the corridor where they
stood, two decks away from Ten-Forward.
Guinan nodded, but unexpectedly did not smile, and her normally placid
features seemed troubled. He tensed in response.
"What is it?"
"Etain. Something's wrong."
"Wrong? In what way?"
She shook her head. "I don't know, exactly. There is a darkness in her I
can't reach her through. I would help, but since she returned from Halvam
with the away team, she has not 'spoken', or sought me out, nor will she
answer my attempts to do so."
Picard frowned. He suspected he knew why, but that didn't lessen his concern.
"Perhaps she has spoken with Deanna."
Guinan shook her head slowly, a frown creasing her forehead. "Perhaps, but I
don't think so. She needs you."
Before he could respond, she turned and glided away. He stared after her,
scowling, and shook his head. What good was his help, since communication
with Etain was, for him, a matter of trial and error? He continued on his way
to his quarters, and before he had gone a dozen paces, he was stopped again.
"Captain, may I have a word with you?"
He stiffened. Deanna. He had the distinct the feeling he knew what she was
going to say, it took no metapsychic ability to do so. He stopped and turned.
"Of course, counselor."
She glanced around, paused a moment, uncharacteristically hesitant.
"Sir, it's about Etain."
He sighed. "I suspected that. Go on."
"It's difficult to explain. She has deliberately isolated herself, cut herself
off from all communication. I believe that her withdrawal is directly related
to the events in Dhara, but that is merely informed conjecture. All I have to
go on, is that for a few moments, after Delvekia killed her kin, she was open
to me, and she was in such pain, such despair, after that she closed me out.
Since then, she has made only one attempt to communicate, which failed, nor has
she moved from her quarters since we left her there. I have requested
admittance, but she's engaged the lock and refuses to acknowledge my requests.
I'm worried, sir. I don't know what she might be capable of, given the
circumstances."
Deanna's worry, combined with Guinan's combined to form a strong sense of
unease in him. "You believe her to be mentally unstable," he asked carefully.
Deanna's expressive face twisted in a pained grimace, and she closed her eyes
for a moment before whispering. "I do. I think, right now, she wants to die,
and that desire seems stronger than her will to live."
Picard stared at the counselor for a long moment, trying not to betray the
shock he felt at her words. Etain's will to live was strong, it had sustained
her in solitude for twenty years, it had healed her when a lesser being would
likely have died of the wounds she had received. For the counselor to say that
she had lost that will was almost beyond belief. He lowered his voice.
"Are you telling me you think she would suicide?"
Deanna's gaze slid away. "I... believe she has decided to die."
Picard was shaken. Of all the possibilities he would associate with Etain,
suicide was the least probable, but Guinan, and now Deanna were telling him
otherwise. He could not refute two such unimpeachable sources. A frisson of
fear shuddered through him. He had no strong personal taboo against suicide,
but the thought that Etain might do so was abhorrent.
"I will speak with her, or try to"
Deanna seemed to relax somewhat. "Thank you, captain. I think you are the
only one she might listen to. I will be in my office, if you need me, if she
needs me."
"Thank you counselor."
Deanna turned away, but not before he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes. He
watched her hurry away, then turned and stared down the corridor at Etain's
door.
Above it, the status light glowed coldly blue, indicating that the lock-system
was engaged. Only a security override would open the door without her
permission. He took a deep breath, went to stand before it, and after a moment
he reached to touch the com.
"Permission to enter."
"Permission denied. Occupant requests privacy." the computer responded
instantly.
"Inform occupant of caller's identity."
"Complying."
Long seconds crept by. He waited, impatiently. Finally the computer spoke
again, it's programmed pleasantness at odds with its words.
"No response. Privacy lock remains engaged. Please try again later."
He sighed. He had hoped he would not have to do this. "Security override
privacy lock. Picard, Jean-Luc, Captain, USS Enterprise."
Again seconds passed. "Identity confirmed, security override accepted."
The door slid open, revealing darkness inside, the air felt cool, and slightly
damp, like her cave. Etain had apparently requested a familiar environment.
He stepped inside, and the door hissed closed behind him.
"Etain?"
His soft query drew no response. He stood still for a moment until his eyes
adjusted to the darkness, then moved forward. A few steps into the room, his
foot encountered something small and hard, and he knelt to find out what it was.
Strands of some soft, fine material surrounded several small objects. Lifting
one, he discovered it to be one of her penannular pins.
Some of the strands clung to it for a moment before falling off. The brooch
seemed to have been left in a sort of nest of the substance. He reached down
again to identify the other objects hidden: the other brooch, her rings, all
her ornaments except the lunnula were there. He replaced the penannular where
he had found it, and stood, a cold awareness tingling along his skin. The
little mound screamed of ritual, a sacrifice of some sort.
He walked carefully to the door of her sleeping-room, but encountered no more
offerings. He stood still in the doorway, listening, and, to his relief, heard
the slow, even sound of breathing.
"Etain?" he ventured again, still quiet.
The breathing caught, but she did not answer. He smiled wryly, as if she could!
He was no Guinan or Troi to hear her thoughts. He moved into the room.
"Lights, low level, gradual."
Illumination grew steadily, like dawn breaking. He almost gasped, wondering if
he had imagined hearing her breathe. She was white, chalk-white, her hands
rusty-red where they clasped the hilt of her broken blade just below her
breasts. White face, white clothes, red hands, closed eyes, stillness, knife,
all registered in a flash. She looked thin, almost skeletal. It took him a
moment to realize why her face seemed so like a skull. Her hair was gone, no
more than half an inch remained to give the impression that she lay crowned
with blood. He remembered the nest of fine strands which had surrounded her
ornaments, and realized what it was. Her hair. He went to his knees beside
her and touched two fingers to the hollow beneath her left ear, and was relieved
to feel the steady tic of her pulse.
"Etain?"
Only the faintest flicker of her lashes betrayed that she had heard him. He
glanced at his fingers, and found them dusted with white, only then realizing
that the whiteness came from some sort of cosmetic, as did the red on her hands.
A smudge of rust showed on the white fabric beneath her hands where some had
rubbed off. He relaxed a little, knowing she was not injured, yet. Though it
no longer had a point, he knew exactly how sharp the little dagger's edge could
be. He studied her more closely, saw that the lunnula lay around her throat,
its once-smooth curve marred by a jagged tear which made two truncated horns
out of what had been a single crescent. Again ritual, he knew it had to be
such. Its destruction signified something, but what?
"Etain, look at me." He did not request, he commanded. Though no other
motion betrayed her, her eyes opened, slowly lifted to meet his. He recoiled
from the hopelessness he saw there. Deanna had been right about Etain's state
of mind.
"Why?" he whispered, meaning a thousand different things.
__Because I have killed, I have forsworn all that I hold dear. I have become
death.__
Picard's eyes narrowed. Did she know, could she possibly know, the significance
of those words? How different had been the man who had said them last, how
different their respective guilt. Oppenheimer had given man a weapon to
destroy millions, Etain had killed one man. A man even he had to admit, had
deserved to die. Even as he thought it, a sudden realization burst over him.
He had heard her, as clearly as if she had spoken aloud.
"Etain, I heard you! How?"
__I am not sure. It seems as if I learned it from Deanna, who communicates
with her imzadhi so, though he is human, and as mind-blind as you. She tried
to teach me before, but until I touched the ardt-aa and called its power to
kill the Darkmind, I was unable.__
"Wait, back up, Deanna's what?"
Instead of a name, he saw a picture, the flash of teeth in dark beard,
mischievous and disconcertingly direct blue eyes. Riker. Now that was
interesting. He had always wondered, there were currents, and subtleties he
had sensed, but never been able to confirm. No wonder it sometimes seemed
those two were a step ahead of him.
"Can you speak so with anyone?" he asked.
An odd expression crossed her face, and she slowly shook her head. __No, not
anyone, not yet. Soon, though, I think.__
He did not press her. There were more important matters to discuss.
"What was it you said unlocked this ability?"
She nodded. __The ardt-aa, the place where the Shining Ones speak. Where my
mother's mother lay, until the Darkmind swept her away like the leavings of a
meal. I put my hands on the stone, and my hatred woke something, I had
thought the Old Power was gone, broken, but it filled me then, and gave me
strength to act on my desire, to kill.__
Picard frowned thoughtfully, realizing she spoke of the central stone in the
lithic circle which lay in the center of Dhara, the one Data had discovered was
a doorway to the Preserver installation below.
"Interesting. I suspect Mr. Data will be intrigued by that bit of information.
But why would it give you the ability to communicate, if your desire was only
to kill?"
__I needed to tell him why he died.__
Her reply was succinct, and plausible. The Preserver's technology was still
active, many of the devices they had found in the 'control room' functional. It
made sense that the central stone was a channel of some sort. But why would
they have left such a dangerous tool in the hands of primitives? If anyone
could access it, any Rua'Shi, that is, it could easily have become an
instrument of petty vengeance. Was that why there had been so few Rua'shi left
to die of Delvekia's engineered plague? Had they killed each other off? Dhara
had been built to house thousands, yet they had found the remains of only
eight-hundred. Etain's next words countered his speculation.
__Only one in each generation could use the ardt-aa. Just one, and she the
greatest of us. It was her duty and her right, to judge. Three times since
the Rua'shi came to Third Home it has been used, now four. But I was not
chosen, I was not trained, I alone must bear the blame, for I did as you have
said. I killed, of my desire, not of calm justice.__
Things were beginning to fall into place, finally. He was starting to
understand.
"Why have you shut out Counselor Troi, and Guinan?"
Etain stared at him for a moment, seeming puzzled by his sudden change of
topic, then she looked away.
__I do not wish to hurt them. I would not hurt anyone, ever again. I have
killed in anger. I locked the door, against them, against you. You came
anyway.__
"I had to. I cannot let you do this."
Anger flashed across her face, as quick and hot as lightning. __You cannot
stop me!__
Despite her anger, there was an uncertainty to her projection, a defiant veneer
with nothing behind it. He regarded her steadily for a moment, understanding
beginning to come. He began to smile.
"Can't I?"
__You cannot.__ she affirmed again, more surely this time.
He nodded. "I cannot command you, I have no authority to do so, I can't
restrain you, and you know that as well, but I can ask you. Do not do this
thing. Do not let him win."
She closed her eyes, and turned her head on the cushions, the first real
movement she had made since he had entered.
__I do not understand. Do not let who win?__
Picard sat down, close beside her, so close he knew she could not shut out his
presence, or his words.
"You understand perfectly well!" Picard snapped harshly, then softened his tone
abruptly. "Etain, he has destroyed your people, all but you. Now, though he's
gone, you will let him destroy you too. Who will sing, then, for your lost
ones? Who will tell their stories? Who will remember them as they were, not
as they became?"
She curled away from him, doubling in on herself, one hand still clutching the
blade, the other covering her face, leaving red streaks on the white.
__You do not understand! I have broken the oldest, most sacred of our laws.
He could not help what he was, yet I judged him evil, and ended him. Now I am
the last, and there is no one left to absolve me!__
"Absolve yourself!" he snapped. "Coran Delvekia called death to him, he asked
for it with every death he caused. You were merely the channel through which
it came."
Etain shook her head, fiercely. __I judged him, in anger; I lashed out, in
anger, what is to say I will never do so again?__
At last, the real fear. He had gotten down to it, through all the false
layers. He felt, momentarily, a sense of elation, and wondered if this was how
Deanna felt when she brought a patient to this point, how Beverly felt when she
saved a life. Then he realized it wasn't over yet. The fear was revealed, but
needed to be assuaged. That sobered him quickly, and he chose his words
carefully.
"Etain, you know you would not. In each of us there is a point past which we
may not be pushed. It takes a lot to reach it. You know, I too, have killed."
She waved her hand, dismissingly. __You are a warrior, it is expected of you.
I am a healer.__
He was momentarily amused by the image her words conjured. He did not see
himself so. "Perhaps in a sense that is true, however, to use your analogy,
in order to cure the patient, one must kill the disease. If it had continued
to spread unchecked, it might have destroyed not just your people, but his own
as well. What he did was wrong, and that he was allowed to do it was wrong,
but there are many who would have stopped him, if they had known," he paused,
not knowing quite how to express his next thought. After a moment, he
continued. "You killed a man, and that was wrong. You will have to come to
terms with that, you will have to accept it. Though ordinarily I would never
condone such a thing, I must admit you had more than just cause; however my
absolution is meaningless. You must forgive yourself."
She did not respond. Instead she turned onto her stomach and placed one arm,
wrist up, on the cushions, with the other, she brought the knife up until it
rested lengthwise against her skin there. Her hand trembled. He held his
breath, resisting the urge to grab the thing and throw it across the room. It
had to be her decision. Besides, if he tried it, with her Vulcan heritage, she
would probably throw him across the room.
He waited, and watched, too tense, but unwilling to make a move which would
precipitate her act. A bead of mahogany blood appeared beside the blade, then
another. then suddenly she rolled to her knees and threw the knife at the wall.
The blade hit the smooth metal and shattered. She stared after it, shaking,
her face a mask of anguish.
__I cannot! I do not want to die!__
"I did not think you did." he said softly, and put a hand on her shoulder, in
a gesture of comfort which came awkwardly to him. She turned swiftly, shaking
his hand free, fear and distrust in her eyes.
He understood immediately. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
The fear went out of her instantly and she shook her head regretfully. __I
know you did not. I must learn to accept it. I cannot live always in fear of
the slightest touch.__ she smiled suddenly, the expression strange in the red
and white mask of her face. __You have spoken truthfully. I accept what I
have done, and I will atone however I may, but I will not fear myself again.
Thank you, for caring.__
He felt a flush darken his face. As always, the open discussion of his emotions
embarrassed him. She looked at him oddly, her head tilted to one side.
__There is no shame in caring. Why do you feel there is?__
Picard sighed. The question. The one he had been asked over and over again
throughout his life. The one he had no answer for. He shook his head. "To be
honest, I don't really know. I've always been this way, I suspect I always
will be."
Etain looked at him for a moment longer, then nodded. __Yes. I think you will.
What you give, you give easily, but never openly. Understand, though, that
whatever you are willing to give, I will gladly accept. You have given back my
life life, twice over.__
Her gaze was level, her changing eyes a clear, quiet gray-green, like the north-
atlantic sea in winter. Momentarily the color stirred a fragment of childhood
memory, of walking down a stone-scattered beach behind his parents and older
brother, dreaming of the men who had once sailed the many-masted ships of
another age, wistfully wishing he could have been one. He had done his best.
A different sea, perhaps, and a different ship, but no less an adventure. He
snapped back to the present to find Etain regarding him with a slightly bemused
air.
Chagrined to have been caught daydreaming, he shook his head. "You owe me
nothing. I did what my duty requires."
Etain shook her head. __Your duty requires you to risk yourself?__
"At times, yes, it does. But I saw no risk here."
She looked askance at him. __You did not fear I might hurt you?__ she asked
pointedly.
"Of course not! Why should I?"
She seemed embarrassed. __I do not know, but others fear me. I am honored by
your care. Your different culture may argue otherwise, but I am debt-bound to
you. If you need me, I will come, unless I am prevented by death.__
Picard felt himself caught by her gaze again, and knew her meaning went deeper
than he cared to explore. He glanced away to break the connection.
"Thank you. I will remember."
Etain nodded, then looked down at her hands and smiled wryly, fanning her
fingers out, displaying them to herself. __When Deanna showed me how to
request cosmetics, I do not suppose she had this in mind. Will you wait a
moment, for me to remove this?__
He nodded, wondering abstractedly what it was he was waiting for. She rose
and left him alone. He speculated for a moment on exactly what her implication
had been, then deliberately turned his thoughts away. She returned a few
moments later, her face still pale, but naturally so, the stained tunic and
leggings exchanged for a moss-green gown vaguely reminiscent of a greek chiton.
It was clasped on each shoulder by her gold penannulars, and her rings once more
graced her fingers. The broken lunnula was gone. Picard frowned suddenly.
The ornaments had been in the outer chamber. She had gone into the bathroom
and had not come out till now, she had not passed him going to retrieve them.
How had she gotten them?
__Do you think you have seen all my talents, Jean-Luc?__
The amused thought came, obviously in answer to his unspoken query. He
turned to stare at her, unsettled.
"Am I so easy to read?" he queried.
__Sometimes. It is easier now. Things inside me are changing, some things
physical, some things not. I hear all of you more easily now, but I can also
screen you more easily. I will have time to learn all the new things while I
learn to be part of this world, since my world is gone. Deanna has taught me
some, Guinan more, but even she cannot help me with some talents, for she does
not have them.__
Picard coughed, taken aback by the thought that this small, fey creature who
was still in many ways quite primitive might be Guinan's superior in talent.
Very few knew who, and what, Guinan was, and even of those, none knew precisely
the extent of her abilities, yet Etain claimed some that Guinan did not have?
He would have said it impossible, but in his lifetime he had come to understand
that virtually nothing was impossible.
He studied her a moment longer, she looked fragile, as if a good breeze might
carry her away. It was her hair, partly, emphasizing the fineness of her bone
structure. She seemed to hesitate a moment, then lifted one hand to touch the
short-cropped cap of russet. An odd smile curved her lips as she closed her
eyes, and drew her fingers through it, down her throat, past her shoulder to
rest on the upper curve of her breast. Magically, the strands beneath her
fingers seemed to lengthen, following her their path. When she lifted her hand,
the illusion remained, a single long lock amidst the cropped cap. Or was it
illusion? Cautiously he touched it and found it quite real.
"Good God..." he breathed softly, astonished.
__It is little different from healing. Both involve the manipulation of the
body on a molecular level.__
His eyes narrowed. What could she know of molecules, as uneducated as she
was? To his surprise, she laughed, silently.
__I do not give you the words, Jean-Luc, I give you the image, your mind
supplies the words. In you, I can only speak with your voice, had you not
noticed?__
He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Now that you mention it, it does seem
a little like talking to myself."
She grinned. __And you speak most eloquently. I understand why the Borg
chose you, no, do not shut me out! You still dream of them, in the darkness.
You still fear what they did to you, as I fear what was done to me. I can help,
let me!__
He shook his head. "How do you know of the Borg?"
"You told me. You showed me, to ease my fears. Do you not remember?"
He did remember, but the depth of her perception still shook him. She had only
touched him for a few seconds that time, how could she have gained so much
knowledge of him in so short a time?
She put her hand on his arm, her eyes pleading for his understanding.
__Because I care, and I am not ashamed that I do. I know what to do, how to
heal this. Let me take away the nightmares!__
"How can you heal it in me, but not in yourself?" he asked pointedly.
Color flooded her face and her eyes fell, then lifted again, candidly.
__It is always easier to heal another. Healing oneself is far more difficult.
You have trained yourself to deal with fear. I never have. I have always lived
with it, but never dealt with it. Perhaps, by healing you, I may learn to heal
myself.__
He sat for a long time, considering it. It was odd for her to want to heal him
now, at a time when it was her own psyche that needed healing, but at the same
time it was almost understandable. She had spent most of her life trying to
heal and help others. It was familiar to her, and perhaps even necessary for
her self-esteem. Finally he sighed.
"Beverly and Will are going to have my hide for this."
Etain's face lit up. __Then you will allow it?__
"You know I will."
###
Though she had won, Etain felt no surge of triumph. It was not a contest to
celebrate the victory of. It was something far, far different. She was not
so naive as she had been, she knew what she owed this man was impossible to
repay, but she would give what she could. She sat down beside him and lifted
her left hand to his face, positioning her fingers carefully, feeling the
strong, hard curve of bone beneath the warmth of skin. Slowly opened herself,
past skin, muscle, bone, and blood, to the depths, not just the surface of his
mind.
Fear. Memories of dark pain and invasion momentarily threatened to overwhelm
her, surging upward to mingle with her own memories, so similar, too similar.
She pulled away with a gasp, momentarily afraid of him, of his species, and his
sex. Then she felt the reassuring contact of his hand over hers.
"No. No fear. You know I won't hurt you."
She opened her eyes, read the promise in his and nodded.
__Never.__
She lifted her hand once more to lay her fingers against his face, to ease the
connection she sought. She searched, gently, through and around memories,
until there, the same helpless anger, the same fruitless struggles against a
stronger foe. She had found in him her own fear. Tenuous shadow-links
radiated from that cluster of memories, shadows which waited, to overwhelm
him in sleep, in waking. She extended her 'hand' and hooked mental 'fingers'
into the gauzy shadows. In another place, she felt him shudder, heard him
moan, and paused a moment.
__I must do this, Jean-Luc, to free you, but I will take away the pain, it will
not hurt.__
She lifted her other hand to his face, to route the pain into pleasure. His
hand caught hers.
"No." he spoke, hoarsely. "Let it hurt. Some pain must be."
She nodded, acquiescing, and closing her 'fingers' into a fist, she ruthlessly
tore away the phantoms which haunted him. His cry was mental, but no less a
scream. Quickly she wove new connections so he would not forget, but would
no longer find terrors in his memories, and his tension began to ease, finally
fading completely. One last time she searched, looking for any vestige of
pain. She found none, at least, none related to his experience with the Borg.
He had not agreed to more, so reluctantly she drew her hand from his face and
leaned back.
__It is done.__
"Yes. I know." he opened his eyes, frowning slightly, as if puzzled. "Did
you learn this from Deanna as well?"
__No. The ardt-aa taught me. This, and other things,__ she turned away,
fighting the welling sadness as she thought of what she had been given, and
what she had lost. __I suppose that, my being the last Rua'Shi, it had no
other more appropriate candidate to give the Gifts to. Strange, it did not seem
to realize that, as the last, I would have no one to use them for.__
Picard shook his head. "If it gave you these skills, it must have known you
would have use for them. I can think of no greater gift than that of healing,
a gift you already had inborn. To accomplish with a touch what months of
struggle could not achieve is a formidable talent indeed, one my people need
perhaps more than yours ever did."
Etain started to reply, but was cut off by the comsignal at the door. They
both jumped like guilty children, staring at the ceiling from which the tone
had emanated. Seconds later a voice spoke as well.
"Etain? Captain Picard? It's Deanna Troi, may I come in?"
Picard chuckled, shaking his head, his voice pitched low, for Etain's ears only.
"I knew I'd get caught. Ah well, best to own up to it now," he turned toward
the connecting doorway and spoke clearly. "Come."
They heard the distinctive hiss of the outer door unsealing, seconds later the
Counselor appeared in the inner door, her face anxious and tense. Her hair was
loose, and she was out of uniform, clutching a dark blue robe over her
nightdress. Clearly, she'd come straight from bed. Seeing them, she relaxed
visibly.
"You're alright, then." she said, with audible relief. "Forgive me, but I...
heard you, Captain. You seemed in pain."
"I was, but no longer." Deliberately he let himself think of the Borg. For
the first time since being taken over by the human-machine constructs, the
thought didn't bring a cold sweat, or pounding heart. He shook his head, awed.
"Etain was merely exorcising a ghost."
Deanna looked puzzled, her gaze darting back and forth between them.
"A ghost, captain?"
"The Borg."
Deanna's expressive eyes widened. "The Borg? I don't understand, what do you
mean?"
Etain knew that Picard could never explain what she had done, so she spoke for
him. __I tempered the fear, Deanna. It was too much, too deep for him to do
himself. Left alone, it would have taken him, eventually, and he would have
been a prisoner of it. I went inside, found the linkages, broke them, and wove
new ones. Now the fear is bound, and will never be free to devour him.__
Deanna turned swiftly toward her. "You did what?" she exclaimed, more than a
little accusation in her tone.
Etain recoiled both mentally and physically from the anger she sensed. Not
expecting it, she had not barriered against it. Before she could gather her
wits for a reply, not understanding Deanna's anger, Picard spoke.
"Enough, counselor. It was my decision to make. And she's right, you know, it
has been getting worse lately. For a while, it seemed I had a handle on it,
but apparently I did not."
The counselor bristled visibly. "You let an amateur do something that delicate?
You let someone with no training, someone who just kil..." she stopped, closed
her mouth and shook her head as if speechless.
Etain heard the unsaid word and flinched from it, then remembering her resolve,
straightened, and sought a reason why the normally compassionate counselor
would have so deliberately inflicted hurt. After only seconds, the answer came
and Etain stared at Deanna in sudden surprise. Deanna was jealous! She was
certain of it, for she herself had experienced it all to often to not recognize
it in another. There was fear there as well, the kind of fear that comes when
one discovers another is more talented than oneself.
In fact, the counselor had some right, as it was her duty to perform the sort
of work which Etain had just done, and on top of that, she was humiliated that
Etain had succeeded where she had not. Etain's pleasure in her accomplishment
faded suddenly. In helping one, she had hurt another. Would she ever learn
the rules of this society? They were so confusing, so arbitrary and abstract!
Feeling suddenly very tired, she rose and crossed to place her hand on Deanna's
arm. She felt the muscles tense beneath her fingers, and knew the other woman
had only just resisted yanking her arm away.
__I am sorry, I only meant to help. I owe so much, it seemed little enough in
recompense. I never meant to usurp your place, nor could I.__
In the face of Etain's sincerity, Deanna's anger faded, and she looked almost
sheepish. She looked from Etain to the Captain and back again, and the anger
became uncertainty.
"I'm sorry. It's really none of my business. I was just worried, that's all.
I see now that nothing's wrong. I'll go."
And she did. Without another word. Picard watched her go, puzzled, obviously
wondering what accounted for the turnabout. Etain sighed, and caught the door-
frame as sudden dizziness threatened her stability. She slid to her knees,
leaning her forehead against the cool satiny texture of the wall. She had the
odd sensation of being in a narrowing tunnel, and then she felt Picard's hands
at her waist and shoulder, and heard him speak, his voice tight and urgent.
"Picard to Crusher."
A few seconds later the doctor replied. "Crusher here."
Etain was puzzled for a moment, not having sensed the Doctor's arrival, then
she remembered. Disembodied voices spoke from the walls here. The doctor
wasn't present, but speaking from wherever she was.
"Please report to Etain's quarters. She's passed out."
"On my way."
Picard lifted her, causing the dizziness to increase to nausea, then,
blessedly, he put her down on the bed. She felt his fingers against her wrist,
then her forehead.
"As if you could tell if she were ill!" she heard him mutter under his breath.
Completely conscious despite her lethargy, Etain tried to summon the energy to
tell him she only needed food and rest, but couldn't. Besides, she wasn't
altogether certain it was true. Since the ardt-aa had touched her, she had
sensed changes, not just in her mind, but in her body as well. Something was
happening, she just wasn't sure what. Though she found Beverly Crusher
intimidating, her knowledge of the ways of the body far surpassed Etain's
haphazard comprehension. She would surely know what the happening.
The wait wasn't long. Only a few minutes passed before she heard the outer
door open, and the doctor's voice.
"Jean-Luc?"
"In here, Beverly." Picard replied.
"Good god!" the doctor exclaimed. "What's she done to her hair? Ah well,
that's her business."
Seconds later, Etain heard the insect-like chirping of Beverly's scanner, then
a few seconds of silence passed. Finally, impatient, Picard prompted.
"Well, Doctor?"
"Some of these readings are odd, but primarily it looks like simple exhaustion,
her blood-sugar levels are so low as to be non-existent, it's no wonder she
passed out!."
"What is it you find odd?"
"Her blood chemistry, some levels are much higher than my projected baselines,
probably due to stress." The doctor's voice changed, became warmer, more
amused. "If you don't mind my asking, what were you two doing?"
"Not what you're thinking." Picard answered, traces of amusement and irony
clearly present in his voice. "We were talking. Deanna had just left, and
Etain was standing by the door when she collapsed. I brought her in here, and
called you."
If she had been able to muster the energy, Etain would have laughed. Picard
had phrased his answer to carefully leave out the fact that he had once again
allowed Etain to do mindwork on him, in direct contradiction to the Doctor's
wishes. He had also rendered the Doctor's other speculations null by
introducing Deanna as a third party. He was very good with words.
"I see." Beverly Crusher's voice held just an edge of disbelief. "Well, let's
see what I can do here."
There were more insectile chirps, then a hiss and stinging sensation against
her shoulder. Within seconds a surprising sense of wellbeing swept through
her. She opened her eyes to find the doctor's face above her, her expression
an odd mixture of amusement and concern.
"Better?" Beverly queried.
Etain nodded, and started to sit up. Immediately Picard offered his hand, and
she took it, without hesitation, allowing him to pull her upright. The Doctor
took a step back and shook her finger at Etain.
"You eat something, and then you get some sleep, do you understand me?" she
asked sternly.
Etain nodded, feeling a flush of embarrassment climb her cheeks. She had been
foolish to expend energy on something as insignificant as her hair, and hated
the fact that her foolishness had been exposed.
"Good." Crusher's tone softened. "And stop by Sickbay tomorrow, when you get
time, I'd like to check your blood-chemistry again when you're more normal."
For the third time, Etain nodded, then she looked at Picard.
__Will you thank her for me? She has been very kind. And please, ask her what
it was she did to make me well so quickly, I am curious.__
Picard nodded, and relayed Etain's words. Etain was pleased to see the other
woman smile.
"You're quite welcome. As for what I gave you, just a little shot of glucose
with electrolytes and vitamins as a quick-fix to keep you going until you eat.
You ought to go into medicine, you know. You'd make a fine..."
The doctors voice trailed off suddenly, and she fixed narrowed eyes on Picard.
"How did you know she wanted to ask me that?"
Picard smiled. "Trade secret."
"Jean-Luc." Beverly's voice dripped warning.
Picard spread his hands, indicating truce. "It's a new skill she picked up
from Counselor Troi. Apparently she can bespeak certain humans telepathically.
She believes that soon she may be able to speak to anyone, not just those most
familiar to her."
Beverly crossed her arms and lifted her eyebrows in patent disbelief. "To my
knowledge, the only human Deanna can communicate with is Riker, and that
only because they were lov..., I mean, close friends."
Picard lifted an eyebrow back at her. "Deanna's abilities are somewhat limited
by her human genes. Etain's are rather more extensive. And, thank you Doctor,
for your information. It seems there is a great deal I didn't know about my
counselor and my first officer."
Beverly flushed. "Don't you dare tell Deanna I let that slip!"
"Of course not." Picard assured her smoothly.
Etain shifted uncomfortably. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to
precipitate little spats between the doctor and Picard, and she wished they
would stop. The tension was quite unpleasant. Both of them looked at her when
she moved, and she wished they had not done that either. She put her arms
around her knees, drawing in on herself protectively, avoiding their eyes.
There was a long silence, then, finally, the doctor spoke.
"Sorry. We've no business inflicting this nonsense on you. Come see me
tomorrow, remember."
Etain looked up, and nodded, a smile curving her mouth in acknowledgement
and thanks. Beverly nodded in return and left the room. Picard was silent
for a moment longer, then he sighed.
"Beverly's right. I apologize as well. Can I get you something to eat?"
Etain shook her head, then remembered she had a better means of
communication, she was unused to it.
__No, thank you, I will get it. I would like to be alone for a while, please.__
Picard hesitated."Are you sure?" he asked quietly.
Even if she had not had access to his thoughts, she would have understood his
meaning. She straightened.
__I am. You do not need to be uneasy, I have let go of death, and I will not
embrace it again. You have my promise.__
He stood for a moment longer, then nodded. "That is more than sufficient.
When you feel up to it, you should contact counselor Troi and Guinan. They've
been worried about you."
__At the moment I suspect Counselor Troi is more annoyed than concerned, but I
will do as you ask.__
"Good. I will see you later. We have some important matters to discuss."
With that, Picard left the room, leaving her to wonder what important matters
waited. She began to relax, slowly. The tension between Jean-Luc and Beverly
had affected her more than she had realized. She wondered why they did not
simply act on their desires. It seemed so much less complicated than denying
their wishes, when they were perfectly obvious. She frowned. It was probably
one of their senseless human rules. Perhaps it was a blessing that the Maiden
had never released her, especially now that all those she might have taken to
mate were gone.
For a moment she allowed herself to imagine how it might have been, imagine a
mate, like wild Sevhn whom she had loved fiercely with a little girl's desire;
perhaps a child as dark and beautiful as her father. A darker vision usurped
her dream, the memory of Sevhn, no longer beautiful, his face blue, frozen in
the agony of trying to draw breath when none would come. Her eyes filled with
tears which she hurriedly wiped away, clenching her teeth against the sobs
which threatened to break as ugly gasps from her mutilated throat, then,
realizing there was no one there to hear, let herself go.
###
Deanna stepped into Ten-Forward, eyes searching the bar for Guinan's familiar
face. She was not there, and, disappointed, she began to turn away.
"You look as if your best friend just died. What's wrong?"
With a surge of relief she turned to find Guinan's probing gaze on her.
"Guinan! I'm glad to see you."
"You could have fooled me." the other woman commented drily.
"I know, I'm sorry. I feel so foolish, but I knew you would understand. Do
you have a few moments?"
"Of course, what would you like?"
"Oh, nothing, I just wanted to talk."
"Not even chocolate ice-cream?"
Deanna hesitated, there was nothing like a good shot of theobromine to cheer
one up. A reluctant smile twitched the corners of her mouth and she nodded.
"On second thought..."
"I thought so. Go, sit, I'll bring it to you."
Deanna chose a table, an isolated one far away from the main crowd, and hoped
no one would come to speak with her before Guinan returned. Whether it was
luck, or her glum expression which kept others away, her wishes were respected.
Guinan returned bearing a traditional glass dish within which rested three
artfully symmetrical mounds of vanilla and chocolate ice-cream flanked on
either side by bananas, swimming in a glistening sea of chocolate syrup. The
confection was topped with a cloud of whipped cream, whereon sat the
ubiquitous neon-red cherry, stem intact. Deanna grinned, and snatched the
cherry from atop the mountain, and bit the fruit from the stem.
"Calories removed?" Deanna queried, chewing.
Guinan winked. "Of course. As always."
"Good. I'd hate to think however many thousand this concoction has were going
straight to my hips!"
Picking up a spoon, she carefully dug a bite of ice-cream out from the center
mound and savored it slowly. She felt Guinan watching her, head tilted
slightly to one side like a curious cat.
"So, counselor, what can I do for you?"
Deanna sighed and put down her spoon. "I've made a perfect fool of myself,
Guinan. I embarrassed myself, and, I'm afraid, the Captain as well, along with
hurting Etain's feelings."
"What, all that, in so short a time? An impressive feat! Tell me."
Between bites, Deanna explained, outlining the scene in Etain's cabin. When
she finished, with that, she sighed.
"...so you see, by calling Etain a killer, I had to have hurt her, and by
reprimanding the captain I implied he isn't to be trusted. Then it hit me. I
was afraid, and I was a little jealous. I haven't really been able to help the
captain with his nightmares, I'm not that skilled. I was jealous because she's
better than I am, and I was suddenly afraid that she might take my place."
Guinan shook her head. "I hardly think Starfleet is going to replace an
experienced counselor with a traumatized woman-child."
Deanna waved her spoon in the air, not realizing she still held it.
"Oh, I know that, Guinan, rationally, but the part of me that responded isn't
rational! I can't believe I acted so immaturely! The captain must have been
appalled!"
"I imagine he understood. He most often does."
A swell of depression swept Deanna and she slouched, elbows on the table, chin
propped on her hands.
"Yes. He does. But that doesn't change the fact that it happened."
"No, you're right about that."
"Guinan, compared to her, I feel like an amateur. I could never do what she
did," Deanna whispered, troubled by the fact, and upset that it bothered her
as much as it did.
Guinan chuckled. "To let you in on a little secret, compared to her I seem
like an amateur! I suspect she has no equal, at least not in this continuum.
Once she has fully matured, and come into all her talents, her closest
competition will be the Q. Unfortunately they lack the one thing which would
make them truly great. They aren't human. She is."
Deanna stared at Guinan wide-eyed, shocked. Finally she managed to speak.
"How can you say she is as powerful as the Q, and in the same breath call her
human? The Q are, well, a primitive would call them demi-gods."
"As would I. But Etain is not. She is human, fully. She has known love and
hate, pain, and death, and will die herself. She has compassion. The Q don't,
and can't. That is their greatest failing, one Etain does not share. She
cares, deeply, perhaps too deeply. When someone else hurts, so does she."
"But to be so powerful, she has killed once already!"
"And tried to die herself to atone for it! We both know how close to the edge
she stood. I don't think she'll ever kill again, do you, honestly?"
Deanna thought about it, and finally shook her head. "No. Honestly, no. But
she does frighten me a little."
"There is nothing to fear in her, but she needs training, guidance, love, or
she will never become what she could be. The Captain has asked me for
suggestions on where to send her, and I don't know what to tell him. The
Vulcans could teach her much, but they cannot love her. The Deltans could also
teach her much and they would love, her but they lack the stability she
desperately needs. My world would have been ideal, but it no longer exists. It
seems there is no place she would feel at home."
Guinan's words triggered a wave of homesickness in Deanna. Betazed held all
those things for her. Stability, love, learning, peace. She looked up at
Guinan with sudden resolution.
"Yes, there is." She put down her spoon and stood up. "Thank you Guinan,
you've been a great help!"
"I have?" Guinan asked, "How? Wait, where are you going?"
Deanna squared her shoulders determinedly. "I'm going to talk with my
mother."
###
For the second time in as many days, Deanna stood outside Picard's door,
fidgeting, trying to muster enough nerve to speak to him. She was annoyed by
her own reticence, normally she had no difficulty speaking to him on any
subject. It was just that this one was a little touchy. She glanced over
toward Riker, his big frame slightly slouched in the contours of the conn. He
smiled at her and nodded, mouthing a silent "Go on". She touched the signal
before she could change her mind. Seconds later Picard's unmistakable command
opened the door for her.
She stepped inside and stopped, surprised by the presence of a second person in
the room, a woman she did not know, seated across the table from the Captain, a
cup of tea half-consumed in one hand and an assortment of datachips and padds
in front of her.
"I'm sorry, Captain, I didn't realize you were occupied. I can come back..."
He shook his head and motioned her closer. "No need, Counselor. We were just
finishing. Counselor Deanna Troi, this is Watcher Kadin Sho, of the
Federation's legal branch. I have been going over the Halvami situation with
her."
Deanna acknowledged the introduction, studying the newcomer. She appeared to
be in her mid-fifties, thin and wiry, her white, spun-sugar hair cut in a
short, no-nonsense fashion which only served to accentuate its flyaway nature.
Her eyes were icy blue, the color startling against the burnt-sienna of her
skin, and the lines around her eyes and mouth said she probably frowned more
often than she smiled, though she didn't appear short-tempered. She eyed
Deanna with equal candor, rising to extend her hand for the traditional
handshake, which she gave firmly.
"I am pleased to meet you, Counselor Troi. It seems we've a mess on our hands,
haven't we?"
Deanna glanced at the Captain, found no clue as to how she should respond in
his steady gaze, and nodded slowly.
"I'm afraid so. It is a very sad, very complex situation."
Kadin Sho nodded, a marked gravity in her demeanor. "It is indeed." Her
bright gaze shifted to Picard. "I would like some time to go over these
documents, and then I would like to meet the Rua'Shi woman, Etain. After that,
I will need time to process the information."
Picard rose. "I will have Lieutenant Marsh see you to your quarters. Let me
know when you are ready for Etain."
Deanna waited while the Captain summoned Marsh and dispatched the special
prosecutor, then turned his attention back to her.
"Well, Counselor, what do you think?"
She considered a moment, choosing her words carefully. "She appears to be very
intelligent, and very practical. I think she is an excellent choice. I find
it interesting that they sent an Efrosian."
"So do I. That should be to our benefit. Their reputation as adjudicators
cannot be equaled; and Watcher Sho is among the best. What did you wish to
ask me?"
For a moment she stared at him blankly, then remembered. "I wanted to speak
with you about Etain. I realize we won't know if she will be allowed complete
freedom when all is said and done, but if she is, we need someplace for her to
go."
"I am aware of that, Counselor." he said, his voice dripping irony.
She gritted her teeth. "I know that, sir, I'm just laying a little groundwork.
I have a suggestion."
He looked slightly surprised, and curious. "Go on."
"Guinan and I believe she would be most at home on a world where the majority
of the population is telepathic. That narrows our choices considerably. Vulcan,
Delta, Tarvis 7, and my own homeworld, Betazed. We have discussed the
possibilities, and agree that Betazed is probably the most suitable." She took
a deep breath, and forged ahead. "In light of that, I have contacted my mother
and asked that she accept guardianship of Etain until such time as she has
completed her basic education and metapsychic training. Of course it all hinges
on whether or not Etain is freed, after the hearings."
For several seconds Picard was totally immobile. Deanna found herself not
breathing, and forced herself to begin again. Finally, he spoke.
"Although your mother and I have our differences, I must admit, it seems a
reasonable solution. Lwaxana has the precisely the sort of influence, drive
and resources necessary for a situation like this."
A vast feeling of relief came over Deanna, so vast that she almost missed the
slight upward quirk of one corner of his mouth as he continued in the same dry
tone.
"Besides, giving her something to occupy her may be just the thing to keep her
out of our hair for a while."
She stared at him, and a slow smile curved her mouth. "I must admit to having
had similar thoughts, sir."
"I would be surprised if you had not." He paused a moment, then smiled. "She
didn't do so badly with you."
Deanna laughed wryly. "Thank you... I think. She should be on her way here
now. She wouldn't agree to wait for the results of the adjudication."
Picard lifted an eyebrow. "Did you really expect her to?"
"No, sir, not really. I simply thought it best to warn you."
"I appreciate that. I'll ask Worf to keep us both alerted as to her time of
arrival. Oh, and Counselor..."
"Yes, sir?"
"Should the situation ever arise again, please discuss such matters with me
prior to discussing them with your mother."
Deanna nodded, embarrassed. "I will sir. I would have done so this time, but
I impulsively called her first to pose the question, hypothetically of course.
She saw through that, as I should have known she would."
Picard chuckled. "Yes, you should have. She may be deliberately obtuse at
times, however she is by no means an unintelligent woman."
"'Deliberately obtuse,' I suppose that is one way to put it."
"One way, yes."
The look they exchanged was full of understanding. Deanna sighed. "I'll be in
my office if I am needed. Thank you, sir."
"No, thank you Counselor."
Deanna nodded and left the room, feeling much happier than she had a few
minutes earlier.
###
Jaron Kelssohn stared out into the deepening teal and wine shadings of the
sunset, his shoulders hunched forward, head down, to all appearances oblivious
to the uniformed man who stood behind him. The fading light cast rosy shadows
in his silver hair. After several minutes of uncomfortable silence passed he
sighed and turned.
"So, Davan. How bad is it?"
"Bad. Very bad. I don't think it could get much worse. A Federation
prosecutor arrived by warp-shuttle to review the case. An Efrosian woman."
Kelssohn let himself sag further, as if disheartened by the news. "Efrosian?
What caste?"
Davan met his gaze evenly. "First Watcher."
Kelssohn stiffened, just enough. "First... gods, it has to be Kadin Sho. I've
heard of her. She was the prosecutor at Torbas Five. The Torbasians lost
everything."
Davan nodded grimly. "I know. I remember. So what do we do?"
"Do?" Kelssohn echoed. "What can we do? We can hope that Coran didn't implicate
all of us. If so, then perhaps we can still see our way clear of this. If not...
well, I suggest we make arrangements to leave. Quietly, and with as much
as we can carry. What do you think, Dav? How deep did he drop us?"
Davan stared at the floor, scowling fiercely, then ran a hand through his
greying brown hair, shaking his head.
"I wish to god I knew. He was always very careful, until recently. After the
Ygdrasil was damaged and he learned that the Enterprise was coming instead, he
suddenly began to make the most amateur mistakes! Leaving the halflings to tend
the Fleeter's rooms was inconceivable, then he compounded the error by trying
to kill Picard. I should have refused to go along with it, but I thought he had
some plan, something to back it up with. Instead I find he's improvising.
Setting up an ambush in the halfling city was like admitting his guilt! I
can't say how much he might have left for them to find."
"And now they've frozen his files, his assets, everything. We can't even get
in to look without them knowing about it." He paced thoughtfully, like a
massive, white-pelted bear scenting prey. After a moment he stopped and looked
up, his pale blue eyes gleaming. "What if we launch our own investigation? We
could say we knew nothing of Coran's activities, and are," Kelssohn smiled
mirthlessly, "...deeply shocked by recent events."
Davan thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "It wouldn't wash.
Picard has thirty of my men, and they know where the wind's from. No doubt
I've already been implicated in at least the most recent series of events."
"And me?" Kelssohn asked softly.
"I... don't know. We were always careful to avoid mentioning your involvement,
but some may have guessed."
"Mere guesses cannot convict, my friend. It sounds as if I've a fighting
chance. You, on the other hand, do not. I can make arrangements for you to
be... spirited away. I have several connections who would be glad to help."
Davan's expression remained carefully neutral as he considered the offer, then
he shook his head with seeming regret. "No, I can't accept, generous though
the offer is. It might, somehow, be traced back to you. I think I had best
find my own way."
Kelssohn sighed theatrically. "Ah well, we must each do as we think best.
Will I see you again?"
"Perhaps. One never knows," Davan answered evasively, shrugging.
"Well then, farewell, old friend, and thank you for your years of service."
Kelssohn held out his hand. Davan took it, after an almost imperceptible
moment of hesitation. They shook hands with showy warmth, then Kelssohn
turned back to the sunset once more. Davan watched him a moment, his
expression unguarded, and vastly suspicious. Finally he turned and walked
toward the door.
"Good luck." Kelssohn called, pivoting to watch him go.
Davan nodded, distracted, and left the room. Kelssohn stared after him a
moment, then began to smile as he returned his attention again to the last
vestiges of the day's light. He chuckled once.
###
Davan Delvekia stood outside the door, listening. He heard Kelssohn's laugh,
and knew his suspicions were correct. He was being set up. Well, he thought,
two could play that game. He wasn't comptroller of security for nothing.
###
Kadin Sho stared out at the stars, her face expressionless as she Watched,
unseeing, letting her mind range as it willed. Her very lack of concentration
freed her intellect to jump and wander, pulling seemingly innocuous facts into
a cascade of order. Things began to make sense, a strange, convoluted sense.
She blinked, focused, and came back to the present with a serene smile. Turning
she touched the companel at her left hand.
"Captain Picard?" she queried.
"Picard here." His voice was calm, incurious.
"Kadin Sho," she said, identifying herself. "I would like to meet Etain now."
"Of course. I will bring her."
"No. I wish to see her alone."
There was a pause, then he spoke again. "Watcher Sho, I believe you are aware
that Etain cannot speak. Either Counselor Troi or Guinan can serve as
interpreter."
"No. Alone. I believe we will be able to communicate. You may bring her here,
but you must leave her at the door, and do not tell her who I am, or why I am
here."
"She has a right to counsel, Watcher Sho."
She smiled. He was cautious. "I understand your worry, Captain, but I am
charged with making a determination as to whether this case is prosecutable.
In order to do that, I need to know a something about the character of our only
witness. I make no judgements as to her guilt or innocence, I am only here to
determine probable cause. If you wish to check the legality of my methods, you
may. I can wait. If you are wondering about my credentials, I suggest you
access the complete files on the Torbas Five incident. I was assigned there as
preliminary investigator as well."
There was another pause, then he spoke again. "No, that will not be necessary.
I will do as you wish."
"Thank you, Captain."
She dropped her hand from the companel and sat down to wait.
###
Etain followed Picard down the corridor, curious, and nervous. She felt as if
she should be running, not walking. He was uncomfortable about something, but
had not revealed what, or where he was taking her.
__Picard?__
"Yes, Etain?"
A passing crewmember glanced at him, curiously, probably wondering why the
Captain had responded as if someone had asked him a question, when no one
else had spoken. Etain hurriedly touched his sleeve to make her query more
visual. The crewman's gaze wandered away as Picard stopped and turned
toward her.
__Where are you taking me?__ She accompanied her mental speech with
gestures, in case anyone else was watching. She didn't want to give the
impression that Picard was talking to himself.
His expression remained grave. "To meet someone."
__Who?__
"A woman, beyond that I cannot tell you."
__Why... no, you cannot tell me that either, can you?__
"Correct. Nor should you attempt to find out in any other way."
She stared at him without comprehension for a moment, then stiffened
indignantly. __I would not! I do not enter unasked!__
"No, I know that. I only meant... well, never mind that. I suppose that was a
non-telepath's paranoia showing. I'm sorry."
__You should be,__ she retorted, apparently not mollified. __Take me to her
then, this mysterious woman. I am most curious about her.__
He nodded, and continued ahead. She followed, a pace behind, still a bit
annoyed that he would think so little of her self-restraint. She was still
annoyed when he stopped and indicated a door.
"Here. She has asked to see you alone."
That startled her. Why would someone she did not know wish to see her alone?
She searched his face for suddenly needed reasurrance, and found it in his
calm. Whoever this was, she was no threat. She nodded, a little nervous, and
touched the small button which would announce her presence. Immediately the
door opened.
"Come in. I am here."
She glanced once more at Picard, who nodded toward the open door. She
straightened her shoulders and stepped inside. Alone.
###
Kadin studied the small figure intently. She was nervous, that was betrayed by
her breathing. She was also curious; her gaze direct and probing. Kadin stood
up.
"Thank you for coming. I am Watcher Sho, also called Kadin. I am here to look
into what has gone before."
Etain nodded, a slight frown creasing her forehead. Kadin noted her raggedly
cut hair, and remembered reading Picard's personal log, his explanation for
both the short, and the long strands. It had made interesting reading. Though
she knew the Rua'Shi woman was probably over a hundred and thirty five years
old, given the fact that she claimed a Sleep, which they estimated at a hundred
years, and thirty five 'waking' years, she looked like a human of about twenty
five. A young twenty five, at that.
"You killed a man." She stated the fact flatly, suddenly.
Etain did not flinch, or cower. Her gaze remained steady as she slowly nodded.
Kadin was pleased by her response.
"Was it justified?"
Again, Etain nodded. Her gaze never wavered.
Kadin considered her answer, thoughtfully, then posed another question.
"What would you do if you found that someone else was guilty of the same
crime?"
Etain's frown deepened, after a moment she shook her head, obviously not
understanding the question. Kadin rephrased it.
"What would you do if you discovered the man you killed had accomplices?
People who aided him."
The young woman's face paled to ivory and for the first time her glance
faltered as she stared off into the distance, at nothing. After several seconds
had passed, she shivered, and her eyes returned to meet Kadin's. She put her
palms together, then thrust them abruptly out and apart, turning her head aside
with an expression of distaste. For a moment she remained so, head averted,
eyes closed, hands out, then she looked back, her eyes asking for understanding.
Kadin nodded.
"Yes. Very clear. Only one more thing... you have said that Coran Delvekia
admitted, in front of you, that he killed your people. Is that true?"
One last time, Etain's gaze sought and held hers, and she nodded, gravely.
Unequivocally. Kadin had her answer.
"Thank you, you may go." She smiled slightly. "I suspect the Captain is
waiting outside. Feel free to tell him what I asked."
Etain nodded, and moved to go, then suddenly turned back. She was smiling.
Kadin felt her projection of gratitude, almost verbal in its clarity. She
nodded.
"You're welcome."
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 12
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:45:49 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER TWELVE
Etain found that the strange woman was right. Picard was waiting for her when
she stepped out of the dimly-lit room into the bright corridor. He was a few
steps away, back to her, seemingly absorbed in the study of some feature of the
wall. She smiled at the small deception.
__Picard.__
He turned, his expression concerned, and a little surprised.
"That was quick."
__Yes. It was. That is a remarkable person, I am honored to have met her.__
He nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "What, if you don't mind my asking, did she
say to you?"
__I do not mind. She asked me four questions. If I killed a man, if it was
justified, what would I do if I discovered he had accomplices, and did the
Darkmind tell me he killed my folk. I answered them.__
He looked slightly shaken. "You answered them... just like that?"
She wondered suddenly if she had done something wrong. __Should I not have?
I did not think to lie.__
He let out a short, explosive sigh. "No. Of course not. How did you answer
her? Did you speak, as we do?"
__No, I...__
She stopped suddenly, distracted and puzzled by a strange new awareness. A
feeling that someone called her, that she was needed somewhere. But where did
it come from? What was it, or who was it that called? The call was wordless,
yet urgent.
On the wall an amber light began to flash, and the Bearded-One's voice called
Picard, who scowled and touched the bright metal symbol on his chest. Behind
her, she heard the soft sound of Watcher Sho's door as it opened. Time seemed
to slow strangely, and she could not breathe. She felt her knees give way as
she tried to call for help, then everything disappeared into an eye-aching blue
haze.
###
Picard thought for a moment that Etain's attention had been caught by the
sudden appearence of the yellow-alert signal, but as he responded to Riker's
hail he realized that she had stopped communicating moments before the alert
had begun. She had a peculiar, listening expression on her face; one hand
outstretched, as if halted in mid-motion. Beyond her he saw Kadin Sho step out
of her cabin, obviously curious about the alert. He listened to Riker without
hearing him as a blue glow began to suffuse the space where Etain stood, and
she began to crumple slowly even as her solidity faded.
The Watcher cried out a warning and started forward, as he did. Their hands met
in empty air. No one stood between them. Shaken, they stared at each other
for a moment. Picard recovered first, and stepped back, studying the area
carefully, assuring himself that there was no trace of Etain. Only then did he
touch his combadge, his voice controlled.
"Commander Riker, would you please repeat that last?"
"Aye sir. Seconds ago the entire Preserver complex suddenly became sensor
apparent, and some sort of energy probe originating there swept the ship. We
are showing no damage or casualties, but I think you should get up here."
His eyes met the Watcher's, she still looked unnerved. He suspected he did as
well. "We have one 'casualty', Number One. Etain just disappeared."
Riker's response was a soft curse. Picard agreed with him.
"I'm on my way, Will, Picard out."
He had already started for the closest turbolift, when the Watcher's voice
stopped him.
"Captain, I thought you should know, I am recommending this case for
prosecution."
He nodded, and resumed his stride.
###
The lift doors opened onto a scene which seemed bizarrely normal. Everyone in
place, a sensor map glowing on the screen, nothing seemed out of the ordinary
save for Data's carefully inflected voice over the communication channel. He
headed for the con which Riker vacated at his approach. Listening to the
android's monologue, Picard was instantly aware that he had missed something
important.
"...which appears to be robotic. My readings indicate that she is currently
unconscious."
Riker interrupted, unconsciously raising his voice slightly, as if to better
project across the vast distance.
"A moment, Mr. Data. I need to bring the Captain up to date."
"Of course."
Riker held himself stiffly, formally as he turned toward Picard, who felt
himself tense in response.
"What is it?"
"Etain's there, sir. In the Preserver complex. Data contacted us as soon as
he realized the communicator interference was gone. He said he was continuing
his attempts to find the tonal key to the Preserver control system when
suddenly the whole thing lit up, and became functional. Then Etain appeared
in a blue field, apparently some sort of transporter effect. Before he could
reach her, she was surrounded by a level-six force screen, and a robotic device
is doing something."
"Doing something?" Picard echoed, appalled. "What kind of something?"
Data's voice supplied the answer. "Something medical, possibly surgical. I
cannot determine precisely what it is from my current position, and am
prevented from moving by the proximity of the force screen, but the delicacy of
motion and instrumentation indicates activity a medical nature."
A second voice spoke suddenly, startling all of them.
"This is Lieutenant Selar. I was working near the stasis chamber when this
began, and have now reached the scene. I am ninety degrees from Lieutenant
Commander Data's position, and have a much clearer view. I can confirm that
the robot is performing some sort of surgical function, involving Etain's left
temple."
She paused for a moment, leaving them to imagine dire thoughts. When she
spoke again, her voice was softer.
"Fascinating. I see now, what it is. Commander Riker, do you recall the
implants I found on that one Rua'Shi skull? The small, crystalline implants?"
Riker nodded, frowning. "Yes, Lieutenant."
"The robot is currently implanting similar devices in Etain."
"For what purpose?" Picard demanded.
"I do not know, sir. I have not been able to determine their function."
Data spoke again. "If my conjecture is correct, they are probably used to
facilitate communication between the Preserver computer, and Etain. This
entire outpost uses complex crystalline structures to transmit and receive
power and communication signals. I have already documented this."
Picard heard the lift open, and he glanced back to find out who it was. The
Counselor hurried down the ramp to take her usual place at his left hand, and
shook her head at his unspoken query.
"I sense nothing unusual at the moment, other than our own agitation."
He nodded, and looked to Riker. "The sensor map, what does it show?"
"The yellow areas are those which before now were impervious to sensor scans.
Now they're wide open. What we took for element interference was apparently a
screen, generated by the Preserver controller. Evidently it had to drop the
screens to find Etain and transport her back to Halvam."
Picard nodded, studying the screen. "The tunnel system is rather more
extensive than we realized." He looked thoughtful. "I wonder why it has been
screening the area all these years? Once the Rua'Shi were gone, it seems to
make no sense." He looked back up again, his expression concerned. "Mr. Data,
Lieutentant Selar, anything new?"
Selar replied. "The robot appears to have completed the operation, and is once
more inactive. Etain is still unconscious, but does not appear to have been
harmed. She will probably wake on her own shortly. I am monitoring some low
level brain activity. Interestingly, I read almost identical activity patterns
coming from what Data believes to be the central computer."
"Thank you. Commander Riker, in my ready room, if you would." With that he
stood and walked up the ramp toward the door. Riker and Troi exchanged
glances. Both of them were fairly certain they knew what he was going to say.
Riker quickly stood and followed him. Once they were sequestered from the rest
of the crew, Picard immediately launched his attack.
"I want an away team down there immediately, medical, technical, and security.
I'm going down as well."
Riker stifled a sigh. He'd been expecting that. He weighed the probable
consequences against the amount of argument and rank-pulling he was likely to
get. Even he had to admit that it was unlikely that the situation was
physically dangerous for the captain, given the nature of the site. He nodded,
grudgingly.
"Yes, sir. As long as you understand that I plan to enter my protest in the
log."
Picard looked startled, as if suprised that Riker hadn't put up more of a
fight. Then a very slight smile lit his eyes, though it did not reach his
mouth.
"Understood, Number One. Will you arrange the away team?"
"Of course."
###
Fear. She was afraid. There was someone, something, with her. Something she
didn't know, but that spoke to her in a continuous low voice which made no
sense. Her head ached as she tried to make sense of it. Words formed, what?
Not what she knew, exotic, liquid words, almost songs...
Song. That was it. The something sang to her, in the voices of her foremothers.
With a wrenching shift of perspective she found understanding, realized they
sang in a tongue she had not used for decades, not since she and her kin began
to think in the language of their captors.
__We are those who were before you. Do not fear. We are you. Do not fear.__
They were inside her head, where she could not rid herself of them, threatening
her very self with their presence in an invasion as terrifyingly real as the
men who had raped her. With a mental scream she tried to close them out,
physically lashing out against them, hands hitting at empty air because there
was nothing there to impact. Nothing. They sang on, over and over, the same
phrase.
__Shut up!__ she shrieked soundlessly, frantic to silence them, to stop the
maddening constancy of their song. It worked. The voices stopped.
She opened her eyes and sat up, hoping to find it a nightmare, but doing that
only made things worse. She did not know where she was. Instead of the
familiar strangeness of the Enterprise, she lay on the floor of a vast chamber,
walled with black-glass boxes that were oddly recognizable. Black glass... she
remembered having a similar feeling of recognition after waking on the
Enterprise, but had not been able to remember then, either. Was this some part
of the ship she had not seen before? Tentatively she reached out, searching
for Picard, Guinan, Troi, anyone.
She touched only a single presence. Cool, curious, unemotional. She turned
toward the being she sensed and saw the Vulcan physician, Selar, regarding her
from some distance away, through a barrier of softly coruscating light.
__Selar, please! What is this place?__
The woman started, obviously discomforted by the mental touch, but after a
moment she replied, verbally.
"This is the heart of the Preserver complex which lies below the city you call
Dhara."
Etain looked around, frowning, and slowly got to her feet. __Below Dhara? Is
there anything below Dhara, save the earth itself? Are you certain?__
Selar nodded. "I am. May I inquire as to how do you feel?"
As Selar spoke, a curious chiming sound filled the air, and the familiarities
Etain had sought were suddenly present. Picard, Troi, the Fierce one, the
Doctor; as well as others she did not know. She began to feel somewhat better,
seeing them.
Etain started to reply to Selar's question with a rote answer. __Fine, I am
fi...," suddenly she stopped. "No, I am not fine. My head hurts, and there
were voices..."
There was a ripple of surprise through the little group. Doctor Crusher stared
at Etain, her brows drawn down thoughtfully as she lifted her scanning device
and pointed it at herself. After a moment she lowered it again and looked at
Picard.
"I heard her, just then." she stated. Her words were echoed by the others,
even Worf, whose scowl was deeper than usual. Picard nodded.
"Etain told me yesterday that she thought she would be able to communicate
with anyone soon. It looks as though she has made that breakthrough."
"It would seem so." the doctor agreed.
Picard returned his attention to Etain, and stepped forward, almost touching
that barrier. There was an expression of mingled concern and relief on his
face.
"You heard voices? What sort of voices?" he queried gently.
She thought hard. __Singing voices. Women. My mothers, and their mothers...
no. Me. It was my voice, ten times over, but at the same time, not my voice,
someone else's.__ She looked up at him, her terror stark and real. __I am
mad. I am mad, aren't I? Is that why I am here, to keep you safe? Did I hurt
someone?__
"No!" The word came simultaneously from Picard and Troi. They glanced at
each other, and with a slight nod, Troi deferred to Picard. He took a deep
breath.
"Etain, you haven't harmed anyone, and you're not mad. We believe that this
machine," he indicated the multicolored crystalline structure to her left,
"is attempting to communicate, through you. Some sort of communications device
has been placed in you, that's why your head hurts."
She stared at him, and shuddered, feeling suddenly sick. Inside her? Where?
Why? She lifted shaking hands toward her face, to where her temples ached and
throbbed. She reached inside, and found alienness there. Something foreign and
cold and not-her. Her stomach rebelled, but somehow she managed not to vomit.
Again, against her will. Again. But like Picard, this time. Her hands
clenched into fists as she spun around to face the alien thing that Picard had
called a machine.
__I will not have it! I will not be used, not again! You did not ask me, and
I will not do it! No!__
Once more she put her hands to her face, and closed her eyes. Inside, past the
known paths and structures, to the small strangenesses on either side. She
sent mental fingers below one, and began to weave new bone, trying to force it
up, out of her. Pain burst in red and black waves and she staggered. On the
other side of the light-wall three people stepped forward as if to catch her,
and were forced back in a flare of brilliance. Through a haze of pain and
inner-directedness she heard Picard swear, and that small familiarity felt
somehow strengthening. She pushed again, trying to ignore the pain. Inside
her mind the voices began once more.
__No... child do not! You need us! We need you!__
__I need no one!__ she insisted. __I do not know you. You are here against
my will! You hurt me! I do not need pain!__
She structured more cells beneath the implant, and suddenly the inner voices
fell silent. She slid to her knees, weak with effort and pain. Long seconds
spilled by, without sound. She swayed slightly, letting her hands fall. The
things were still there, in her, but it seemed she had won. They were quiet.
She let herself breathe deeply, trying not to perceive the agony in her head.
Then the voices spoke again. Voices she both knew, and didn't know. Many
voices, in one.
"We are sorry. Forgive us. We did not ask. We did not perceive it necessary,
but see now that it was. We did wrong."
She looked around, saw the startled expressions on the faces of the others, and
knew she was not mistaken. That voice had been audible, not just in her head,
and it had spoken in her new tongue, so they could all understand. Picard
focused on the machine and asked the question she had wanted to.
"Who are you?"
"We are the Ban-Chomraida, the Communicators. Those who have gone-before.
We are Etain, she is us, though each of us was different."
Etain stiffened. The Communicators! That was what Mhaiv had always called
herself. Etain had always thought it odd that she sometimes spoke of herself
as more than one. Picard's mouth thinned.
"You speak in riddles." he said, his tone faintly disgusted.
"Etain knows." the voices replied, then, more gently. "She just does not
realize it yet."
"Etain?" Picard asked. She looked at him, and nodded, slowly.
__My grandmother called herself the Communicators, sometimes. She said the
one who spoke with the Singing Ones for the clan on the ardt-aa was always
called that. But she is dead, years gone, even her bones are gone!__ She
turned back toward the machine. __You cannot be her.__
"She is one of us. We are her, and more than her."
"Captain, if I may, I have a theory."
Everyone turned to look at Dr. Selar, who appeared suddenly ill at ease with so
much attention on her. She straightened, and locked her hands behind her back.
"When I examined the remains we found above, I found one whose genetic structure
was so like Etain's as to be virtually identical. I thought at first that was
because the Rua'Shi's gene-pool was so small that they had become badly inbred;
but in examining others, I found considerable diversity. Only that one person
had so similar a genetic structure. That person was also the one who had been
fitted with small crystalline implants in precisely the same place that Etain
received them. I have since then discovered that the stasis chamber contains
genetic material from two-thousand-forty-two different Rua'Shi, which was
probably preserved for genetic work. These things lead me to believe that
Etain may be a full clone or partial genetic adaptation of the person whose
remains I examined above."
Picard nodded slowly. "That would explain their riddle. 'We are her, and more
than her.' It makes sense. Perhaps this device has somehow stored the memories
of each of Etain's previous clones, and the combined memories have formed a...
persona of sorts."
Etain had moved to within a few inches of the light-wall to listen. She did
not understand any of it. __Please, Picard, explain to me. I understand that
Dr. Selar believes me to be a clone of my grandmother, Mhaiv, but what is a
'clone'? And how can one store memories?"
"A clone is like an identical twin, only more so. A person whose every cell is
identical to yours. As for how one can store memories, I can't answer that,
because I don't understand the process myself. I do know that several
civilizations have had the ability, including, I believe, the Vulcans." he
looked to Selar for confirmation. She nodded.
"Yes, after a fashion."
Etain was more confused than before. __How can I be my grandmother's twin?
We were born Sleeps apart.__
Picard shook his head. __Time doesn't matter if you have the correct
technology, which this place quite likely does."
__And this is a place of the Shining Ones? What you call the Preservers?__
"We believe so, yes. In all likelihood, this is also where the Rua'Shi spent
their Sleeps."
In the midst of complete bewilderment, something suddenly made sense. It
explained why she kept thinking the black-glass walls were familiar. She had
seen them before, but in the daze of Sleep, and so had not truly remembered
them. Having just that single point of reality gave her an anchor. She
realized she had allowed herself to grow distracted by their words, and with
summoning strength from somewhere inside she turned once more the she sparkling
column in the center of the room.
__What do you want from me?__
"It is your time now. You are the newest of us."
She shook her head, slowly, trying to ignore the pain it caused to do so.
__There is no one left to speak for, don't you realize that?__
"But there are. There are the not-yet-born."
Etain flinched visibly. __There can be no others. I am the last.__
"There is a way. Those you came with know how to cause it. This place is too
old, it no longer has the ability to create life as it once did. You were its
last successful attempt. Now you must have their help for the Rua'Shi to
continue."
In her mind a half-formed understanding of the concept they were expressing
began to take shape. She suddenly realized that the knowledge came from
Them, through those alien things in her head. Furious at the invasion, she
pushed the knowledge away.
__Stop! Do not use me so!__ Instantly the subtle flow of information ceased.
She turned again to Picard.
__What do they mean? Do you understand them?__
His eyes narrowed as he nodded, slowly.
"I believe that I do," he looked past her, addressing his next words to the
Communicators. "The genetic samples in the stasis chamber. You want us to use
them, to clone the Rua'shi they were taken from, and recreate the race that
way?"
The burst of affirmative sound was loud enough to make the entire group wince,
some covering their ears. When the reverberation had died away, Etain began to
shake her head.
__No!__
There was a moment of silence. Then a single word fell into the silence, the
machine-voices full of pain.
"Why?"
__Because, we are no more. It would be wrong, to pretend otherwise. The
Rua'Shi are gone, there are none left who remember them. They are dust. Our
world is no more, our city is empty, our ways forgotten. Even I am no longer
Rua'Shi. Though my blood and bones and skin are still Rua'Shi, my mind is not.
I am too changed, too different. I have forgotten too much, and I have learned
too much. We died as a people even before the little ones were killed. There
are no fearsin left, no mothers, no fathers, no grandparents... no one to teach
us how to be Rua'Shi! I cannot do it, I know too little of what we were. Even
if we create living beings in their image, they would not be Rua'Shi, their
souls would be of your world, because all that made us uniquely Rua'Shi is
gone, irrevocably gone. It would be like trying to heal a corpse, when life
has been gone so long that not even a faint trace of its warmth still remain.
No, foremothers, we are no more, let it be.__
Behind her she heard someone crying, and knew it was Deanna Troi. She felt her
own tears start, but blinked them away. The voices did not reply, but suddenly
the light-barrier faded.
Etain turned, surprised, to see Picard tentatively extend his hand past where
it had been. Nothing happened. From her right, Data spoke, startling her.
She had not realized he was there.
"Captain, the Preserver power-grid appears to be shutting down. Peripheral
areas first, in a random pattern. I estimate twenty minutes to full shutdown."
"Thank you Data." Picard replied quietly. He walked forward, the Counselor a
step behind him, until he stood beside her, gazing at the shining pillar.
"Etain, are you certain? We can do it. Our technology is certainly up to the
task. We have the chance to save your people, to let the opportunity pass
would be a terrible, irreplaceable loss."
The tears she had held back began to push past her control, as she shook her
head.
__They know I am right. You see it. As a people we can never be the same.__
"You are partially right, the Rua'Shi could not be recreated as they were, but
Etain, all civilizations change! It is a part of life, and change should be
positive. Your people are uniquely talented, with skills that could help many.
I will respect whatever decision you make, but I want you to be sure. I don't
want you to regret your decision."
Some of her certainty began to fade. There was logic in his argument. She
rubbed her head, trying to ease the pain.
The counselor put a hand on her arm. "Right now you are in pain, and you are
confused, and afraid. Perhaps you should postpone your decision a little while.
We can transfer the genetic samples to the Enterprise for safekeeping while you
rest and allow yourself time to think."
Slowly she nodded. It seemed to make sense.
__I will do as you say. It makes sense. But, please,__ she touched her
temple again, and looked at Picard. __I want them gone. You understand. Can
it be done? I could try to do it myself, but it hurts, and the pain makes it
difficult.__
"I suspect that Dr. Crusher can do something about that, but before she does
will you do something for me?"
__What?__ she asked, trying not to be suspicious. Too many people wanted
something from her.
"Ask the machine, the Communicator, not to shut down. The information it
contains is priceless to us, if possible, we would like to be able to keep a
research team here to learn from it."
She considered his request, and saw nothing harmful in it. Awkwardly she
reached through the tenuous connection to where she sensed the dull spark of
intelligence within the orderly construct. __Wait,__ she asked it. The spark
brightened. Could a machine be hopeful? Its response was a wordless question.
__?__
__Do not go. I need time, to consider this, and those who have aided me wish
to learn from you. Will you allow this?__
There was a pause, then it replied, its voices once more harmonious. __If you
will consider, we will allow them to learn that which will not harm them. This
we will do.__
__Thank you. Farewell.__
The machine-voices did not reply, but Etain thought she sensed a certain
satisfaction in it. She looked up at Picard. __It is done. It will allow you
to learn from it.__
His relief was almost tangible. "Thank you, it will be invaluable." He
beckoned the Doctor forward. "Beverly, can you remove the communication chips?"
The doctor scanned her for a moment, then nodded. "A piece of cake. But not
here. I'd like to get her back to sickbay."
Etain stared at her, puzzling over what a sweet had to do with her request.
Her expression made Deanna laugh as she took Etain's arm.
"What Beverly means is that it will be easy. Come, let's get back to the ship."
Etain nodded and took a few steps, then stopped, at a loss. In response to
Deanna's curious look, she shrugged sheepishly. __I do not know how to get
there from here. Can you show me?__
The counselor grinned. "Even better, I'll take you," she touched the badge
on her breast. "Troi to Enterprise, three to beam up, these coordinates."
>From nowhere, a musically accented man's voice replied. "Aye, Counselor.
Standing by."
"Now, please, Mr. O'Brien."
###
The world around her dissolved, then re-formed. She stood once more on the
Enterprise, in a small chamber on a raised dais. The experience was peculiar,
but not frightening. A stocky man with curly sand-colored hair stood behind a
console, regarding her with curiousity, and almost recognition. She wondered
why. Deanna and the doctor stepped off the platform. She followed them,
turning the past hour's events over in her mind. She had been certain she had
done the right thing, now suddenly she was not sure. Picard's comment about
change made sense, yet, the Rua'Shi had changed little since they had come to
Third Home. At least, the tales made it seem so. Why? What had kept them
from changing? There had to be something. As they walked, she looked up.
__Deanna?__
"Yes, Etain?"
__Was your mother's world a place of the Shining Ones?__
"No, I'm afraid not. We evolved on our own... as far as we know. Anything is
possible."
__What of First Home, what you call Earth? Did the Preservers make that
world?__
_No. They took several seed-cultures from Earth, though. Why do you ask?"
__I wondered why we had not changed. We changed a little after Second Home.
Before that, our leaders were men, and we were not so careful with each other,
but the changes they brought were small. If we came from First Home, why have
we not changed as much as they did? Why do we not have ships that sail the
stars, why do we not have machines that unmake and make us?"
Deanna shook her head thoughtfully. "I don't know."
Etain frowned. __I think it is because they did not wish us to change. That
alone explains why. But change is natural. To not change is unnatural.__ her
troubled expression cleared. __It was right to wait. Do you think I could
also wait to decide?__
Deanna looked puzzled for a moment. "Decide what?"
__About the,__ she paused, searching for the word, __...genetic samples.__
A gentle smile curved her mouth. __As you once said, I do not think I am ready
yet to become a parent. Especially not to a people. There is much I must
learn first.__
Deanna smiled back. __I understand, and I think you have made a wise
decision.__
__Thank you.__ she frowned slightly, and turned to the doctor. __I will not
need your help now. I have decided to keep them. Generations of myself have
worn them, and perhaps someday I will need them. For now, they know not to use
me without my permission, and will not do so again. Perhaps their presence
will help me deal with my fears.__
"You're sure?" Beverly asked gently. "Removing them would be a simple
procedure, painless."
Etain nodded. __I do not fear the pain, I just feel it would be best this
way.__
"As you wish, but if you have any problems, or just change your mind, I'm
available."
__I will remember. May I go to my quarters now?__
The doctor nodded. "I don't see why not." She indicated a side-passage and
pointed down it. "Sickbay's right there. I'm almost always there, or
reachable."
__Thank you.__
"Anytime." She turned and headed the way she had pointed. Etain watched her
for a moment, then glanced at the counselor, who was studying her with a slight
frown on her face.
__Is something wrong, Deanna?__
__You tell me. You've been through a lot, but you seem to be coping. Is that
real, or just on the surface?__
__To be honest, I am not sure. So much has changed, and will change. I would
like for it to stop, if just for a little while, so I can catch my breath. I
think I am a little afraid.__
__Of?__ Deanna prompted.
__Myself. The future, as well as the past. There is so much to fear, but
perhaps more to excite. I need time to absorb it all, to deal with it.__
__Yes, you do. And I think I know the ideal place for you to do that.__ The
counselor's bright gaze dropped, and she surveyed her hands with unaccustomed
interest. Etain sensed she was uncomfortable, but not why. After a moment,
she went on.
__I hope you won't object, but I've made arrangements for you to stay on
Betazed for a while, as long as you want. With my mother.__
Etain was momentarily stunned, and stared at the other woman, openmouthed.
Finally she found words. __Why? What have I done that deserves such
generosity?__
Deanna's discomfort grew, along with a rueful smile. __If I were you, I'd
reserve judgement. You haven't met my mother.__
__No, but I have met you. The child reflects the parent.__
The smile became a chuckle. Etain sensed a curious mixture of love and
exasperation from the dark-eyed woman opposite her. __Not always, Etain, not
always. My mother is... unique. You'll see, when you meet her, she's on her
way here now to meet you.__
__Now? You are sure?__
__Very. But please remember, you are not obligated to stay with her. We can,
I'm sure, make other arrangements. I felt that Betazed would be a good place
for you, since most of its inhabitants are telepathic. My mother has plenty of
room, and she enjoys company. It seemed a workable solution to your dilemma.__
Etain shook her head in disbelief. __You offer me more than a place to live.
You offer me your own family! How could I refuse? Why would I?__
__You haven't met my mother yet. As I said, remember you always have other
options.__
Etain regarded her dubiously. Surely her mother couldn't be that bad. __I
will remember. Will you come with me, and tell me about Betazed? It would be
good to know what to expect,__ she shivered involuntarily, __...and I do not
really want to be alone right now.__
__I would enjoy that, but let's go to Ten-Forward, instead of your quarters.__
__What is Ten-Forward?__
__You'll see.__
###
Deanna led her to a pair of wide doors inset with clear ovals which bore the
same symbol all the Enterprise folk wore on their breasts. Etain's curiosity
had all her senses alert as they neared their destination. The first thing she
discerned was an overall feeling of well-being, even pleasure, from many
different sources. She also felt Guinan's presence, like a sleeping-fur, warm
and comforting. As the doors slid open to admit them, her nostrils flared as
she inhaled the myriad aromas. Living beings, plants, food, drink... her eyes
widened, was that ale she smelled? It had been eons since she had smelled that
particular fragrance. The combination was not unpleasant, and had a singularly
intimate quality to it that reminded her of festival times. Nearly everyone in
the large room was smiling. Even the huge transparent walls which spilled the
light of a thousand suns into the room failed to intimidate her in this
atmosphere. She turned to Deanna, delighted.
__What is this place?__
__This is Guinan's domain. A place to rest, relax, and indulge. It's one of
my favorite places, especially when I don't want to be alone. I see Wes
Crusher over there, and I know he wanted to meet you.__
Etain was startled. __Me? Why?__
Deanna laughed. __I think you'll figure that out for yourself. Come on.__
She let herself be led over to a table near the far end of the room. A slim,
ash-brown-haired young man sat there, so intent on a small device he held that
Deanna had to speak to him twice to gain his attention. He looked up, a slight
flush washing across his cheekbones.
"Deanna, sorry, I didn't hear you. I was just..." his voice trailed off as
he noticed Etain. He closed his mouth, and darted a swift, uncomfortable
glance at the counselor who smiled brightly.
"Wes, this is Etain. Etain, Wesley Crusher."
Etain put out her hand, palm-up and lifted. He hesitated a moment, then met
her hand with his. As his hand touched hers, not only could she sense his
interest, but she felt a shock of precognition. Something about this young man
was far from usual. She could not sense why, or what it was that made, or
would make, him important, she just knew that he was. Vaguely she recalled
seeing him before, on the Bridge. His name registered suddenly. Crusher, like
the doctor's. She studied him more closely, but saw no strong resemblance,
other than a certain delicacy of build.
__You are related to the Doctor?__ she asked, hoping her thought-touch
wouldn't startle him too much.
He stiffened, and once again his eyes slid toward the counselor, a clear
question in his gaze. She chuckled.
"Relax, Wes. Yes she's a telepath, and a very good one, but she's using it on
a conversational level only. She can't hear anything you don't want her to
hear. I know it feels odd at first, but I think you'll get used to it. Just
answer her aloud, as you would in any conversation."
He nodded and looked back at Etain, a lopsided smile lighting his rather
serious face. "I didn't mean to be rude, but you startled me. Yes, Doctor
Crusher's my mom."
__I wondered, since you share part of her name.__ she paused a moment,
searching for something to say. Inspiration came in the form of a question.
__I remember you, from the Bridge. I do not understand why they call it that,
it does not look like a bridge to me.__
He grinned. "No, it doesn't, does it? It refers to a time when the bridge of
a sailing ship was a small platform that extended over the main deck. Back
then it did look like a little like a bridge."
Etain smiled back, his friendliness an antidote for the grief she didn't want
to think about. __Thank you, now it makes more sense. What is that?__
She pointed to the device he had been so intent on. He looked down at it, and
frowned a little.
"I'm not sure you'd understand, it's pretty technical."
She smiled ruefully. __You're probably right. I know little that is...
technical. Perhaps you could help me to understand some of this?__ she
gestured around, at the room, at the gleaming surface that separated them from
space. __I know from the tales of the time of the Shining Ones that to go out
there would mean death, how do you keep it out there, and us here?__
Wesley's expression was one of pure joy. Etain sensed the smile Deanna hid
behind her hand as she pretended to rub at her nose. She was obviously pleased
with something. Silently Etain queried her.
__What amuses you?__
__You couldn't have chosen a better thing to ask if I'd prompted you! Wes was
born to teach; he loves to explain things. If he can't explain something, he
studies it until he can. I think...__
Whatever it was she had thought was interrupted by Worf's resonant voice
issuing from the air.
"Counselor Troi, to the bridge."
She sighed. "Will you be alright if I leave you in Wesley's care? I have to
go now, but I'll be back as soon as I can.__
For just a moment Etain felt a sharp splinter of fear twist inside her. She did
not want to be alone with a male she didn't know. Then she looked at the open,
interested face of the young man across from her and knew he would not harm
her. Picard had told her that no one on his ship would touch her unasked, and
she knew he was right. They were very different people from those who had
hurt her. Looking up at Deanna, she nodded.
__Yes, I will. Thank you.__
The counselor's dark gaze lingered a moment. She had caught that moment of
fear. __Are you sure?__ she asked, probingly.
Etain nodded. __I am sure.__
Deanna smiled. __Good. I am glad.__
__So am I.__ Etain echoed, returning her attention to Wesley.
###
Davan checked his scratch-built transponder, making certain it was set
correctly. It would ensure that to sensors, as well as to prying eyes, his
small shuttle would pass as a common ferry. No one would think twice about
granting him clearance for takeoff. Just to be certain, guessing that Jaron
had a voice-scanner checking all clearance request, he had also installed a
modulator to disguise his voice. He wasn't going to bear the brunt of the
investigation alone. He knew he had little chance of escaping. His jury-
rigged transponder might get him past Spaceport security, but only because he
had designed the system it needed to fool. He wasn't stupid enough to think
he would be able to deceive the Enterprise's more refined sensors, no doubt
they would catch the signal doubling caused by his modifications. It made no
difference, since the Enterprise was his destination in any case. All he had
to do was get there in one piece. He keyed in the ignition sequence, and
opened a com channel.
"Terrestria Port, this is the Cantal Mahar, requesting permission to depart,
following previously filed flight-plan."
There was a moment of delay before Terrestria answered. Not unusual. The
voice over the speaker sounded bored.
"Cantal Mahar, clearance granted. Please lock your controls into Terrestria
Guidance's signal."
He took a deep breath, and gave his controls over to the guidance computer.
This was it. This was where they would do it, if they suspected him. His hand
hovered over the cutoff pad, only a slight tremor betraying his fear; ready to
take control back from Guidance at a second's notice. He would have preferred
to guide the ship himself, but didn't want to risk the suspicion asking for a
manual liftoff would generate.
Slowly the shuttle rose, lifters engaging flawlessly. So far, so good, he
thought. He felt the ship turn, as it should, and nose up slightly as the main
engines kicked in. He felt himself pressed back into his seat-cushions for a
moment before the gravity compensators came on-line, and he scanned the
monitors, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. His hand stopped
shaking. He was almost clear of the outer atmosphere. The voice on the com-
channel startled him.
"Cantal Mahar, please confirm destination."
He stiffened. This was not usual procedure. He scowled, wondering if the
request meant they were specifically curious about him, or if it merely
indicated a general tightening of security. Schooling his voice to careful
nonchalance, he thumbed the communicator and replied.
"It's on my flight-plan, folks. The good ship 'Enterprise.' I've got a
shipment of exotic fabrics and non-transporter viable foodstuffs ordered by
various crewmembers. Is there a problem? I cleared duties on the stuff."
There was a long pause before Terrestria replied. Long enough to restart the
tremor in his hand, though the ship still moved as it should.
"Confirmed, Cantal Mahar. Have a nice ride."
Was he imagining a hint of sarcasm in those words? His hand moved a centimeter
closer to the pad. The ship cleared atmosphere, and the com signaled him again.
"You're on your own now, we're finished with you."
He stiffened. He would recognize Jaron's voice anywhere! His hand slammed
down onto the release key only seconds after the ship gave a sudden lurch, and
began to nose downward.
Swearing, he managed to level it out with only a little hull-scorching and
pointed it toward the Enterprise before pushing the little craft to its maximum
impulse speed, knowing they'd be on his tail with some credible reason to
destroy him within seconds. Frantically he resorted to his alternate plan.
"Enterprise, this is Davan Delvekia, I'm on my way, and I need sanctuary."
"This is Enterprise." a low, resonant voice returned almost instantly. He
knew it well. The Klingon. "Stand away. Do not approach."
"Damn it, Enterprise! They'll rip me to shreds! I have no weapons and only
minimal shields! I have to see Watcher Sho! I have information she needs!"
Eyes on the fast-approaching blips on his screen, he didn't care who heard him.
It didn't matter anymore. What mattered was staying alive. He'd been a boy
when Coran and Jaron had exterminated the Halflings. There was no way they
could pin it on him. The only thing he was guilty of was following Coran's
orders for the past ten years .
A different voice responded to his second request, different, but no less
familiar. He smiled grimly. He had suspected they had recovered Picard, but
hadn't been able to confirm it without access to his usual network of
intelligence.
"Davan Delvekia, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Approach to one-hundred
meters and hold there. We will provide shields."
He maneuvered his little craft into the silver giantess' shadow. He watched on
the monitor as Enterprise's shields sprang to life, with him inside their
protective bubble. The pursuing craft peeled away from the barrier moments
before they would have impacted. Only then did he allow himself the luxury of
relief.
He put the ship at station-keeping and waited. No doubt they would want to
scan him for potential threat, and do a little checking on his background. Not
to mention dealing with the aroused hornet's nest of ships still waiting for
him just outside the great ship's shields. He turned his comunit to Security
frequencies and listened in as his own second ordered the Enterprise to
surrender him. He waited with them for the reply, which wasn't long coming.
Picard's reply sounded faintly amused.
"I'm sorry, Captain al-Qadri, but I cannot do that, at least not until I have
reviewed his request for sanctuary. He has offered no hostility toward us, and
it is against precedent to refuse such a request out of hand. I will let you
know when we have made a decision."
Davan silently blessed Khalid's loyalty, knowing the pilot should have been
able to catch the Cantal Mahar before it had reached the Enterprise. He
strongly suspected that the only reason he was still alive was that Khalid had
refused to destroy his former commander. It was a shame, for Davan had no
doubt the young man would pay for that 'failure,' unless they arrested Jaron
first. Thankfully Khalid had no family for Jaron to strike through. Picard's
next words commanded his full attention.
"Captain al-Qadri, you state that the man is a criminal, but do not list his
crime. Of what is he accused?"
The voice which replied was not Khalid's, but Jaron's. He must have been
monitoring communications from the surface.
"This is Jaron Kelssohn, Captain Picard. We suspect that Davan instigated the
recent series of terrorist attacks, including the attempt made on you."
There was a moment's pause before Picard replied. When he did, his tone was
even drier than before.
"I see. Thank you, Guide Kelssohn. That is quite interesting. Doesn't it
seem a little odd to you that a man accused of plotting to kill me would then
request sanctuary of me?"
"Not if he intends to complete his mission once aboard your ship."
"My security chief assures me there is little in the way of weaponry aboard his
craft."
A slight edge crept into Jaron's tone of hearty concern. Davan wished he had
visual.
"Davan Delvekia is expert in several martial arts. He has no need of weapons."
Davan chuckled, Jaron was laying it on a bit thick. He definitely heard
amusement in Picard's voice this time.
"I'll keep that in mind, Guide Kelssohn. Now, if you will excuse me..."
"You're going to take him?" Kelssohn interrupted, obviously dismayed.
"I am going to consider his request, and to do so, I prefer to speak with him
face-to-face. I'm sure you understand."
"Of course." Kelssohn had his vocal mask back in place, sounding as if he
weren't terribly concerned by Picard's decision. Davan grinned mirthlessly.
Served him right.
"Enterprise to Cantal Mahar."
The Klingon's voice again. Something in his tone made Davan sit up straighter
as he answered. "Cantal Mahar."
"This is Lieutenant Worf, Enterprise Security. We will beam you aboard, but
you understand we must search you and your vessel for weapons and restricted
items. To do this requires your permission."
Davan stiffened, his eyes drawn irresistably toward the rear of the ship.
After a moment, he gritted his teeth and answered. "Understood, Lieutenant
Worf. Search away."
"Stand by to transport."
"Thank you, Enterprise. Standing by."
He got to his feet and waited for the peculiar sensation caused by the
molecular transporter. He felt it begin, saw the walls of his ship fade like a
chalk-drawing in the rain, and sighed. He was almost home free.
###
Picard looked away from the screen to Counselor Troi, who had taken her
accustomed place at his left hand a few moments earlier.
"Well, counselor. How did you read that little exchange?"
She frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then shook her head. "It's hard to say.
The whole thing was very confusing. Both of them are lying, or hiding
something, both of them were angry, and frightened; yet I sensed a certain
amount of humor from Davan Delvekia that was definitely not present in Jaron
Kelssohn. I can't help but wonder what he found humorous."
A gleam of amusement lit Picard's eyes. "I rather suspect it was the same
thing I found humorous. Jaron Kelssohn cannot possibly have believed I would
find any sort of real threat in his recitation of Delvekia's ostensible martial
arts prowess. Perhaps if he and I were to be alone I might be a little
apprehensive, but the man will be surrounded by security, a virtual prisoner!
It seemed a slightly desperate ploy."
Deanna nodded. "Yes. Desperate is exactly how I would describe him. He had
that feeling about him."
"And Delvekia?"
"At first, yes, when he thought we were not going to shield him, but that faded
almost immediately. I don't mean to say he's acting in complete altruism, or
that he is completely safe, but I believe he means what he says."
"We'll find out, won't we?" he stood abruptly. "Mr. Worf, check him
thoroughly for weapons, and hold him in 'protective' custody in the brig." As
the Klingon nodded and strode toward the turbolift, Picard turned to Deanna.
"Will you accompany me? I suspect we will need your abilities. I will ask
Watcher Sho to join us as well."
"And Etain?" Deanna queried. "Shouldn't she be there?"
Picard hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "No. If we find we need to
bring her in, we can, but I don't see that her presence is necessary, and what
Delvekia has to say could prove traumatic for her. I think she's had enough of
that of late. Number One, you have the conn."
Deanna glanced at Will Riker as she moved to accompany Picard, her expression
sympathetic. If Picard noticed Riker's grimace of annoyance at being left out,
it didn't show.
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply
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From: JULIA@Jetson.UH.EDU
To: jfy@cis.ksu.edu
Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 13
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:46:05 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Davan was only a little worried when Worf escorted him not to the bridge, but
to the brig. It made sense, considering the circumstances, though he was used
to better treatment. He would have to get used to being on the receiving end
of security for a change. He accepted the spartan bareness of the cell with
equanimity and waited for Picard and Kadin Sho to appear. When they did,
another woman was with them. Not the Halfling, but a voluptuous dark-haired,
dark-eyed woman. Though her form-fitting azure dress was not a uniform, she
wore a Star Fleet combadge at her shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he studied her
more closely, realizing that her dark-in-dark eyes were the hallmark of a
Betazoid. So much for lying. Well, he hadn't planned to do much of that in
any case. He would just have to steer the conversation away from sensitive
areas.
He stood politely, and nodded as Picard introduced first himself, then Watcher
Sho and Counselor Deanna Troi. He wondered for a moment what it would be like
to have a beautiful woman in a position as intimate as that of Ships' Counselor.
Especially a beautiful woman who was an empath. After a moment he realized
the empathic part probably put a very effective block on the sort of things he
was thinking. Worf stood in the background, arms crossed on his chest, face
fixed in a perpetual scowl. His presence brought Davan's wandering thoughts
back to the subject at hand as effectively as Picard's question.
"So, Captain Delvekia. You said you had something you wished to tell Watcher
Sho. She is here, you are here..." he let the sentence trail off, prompting
a reply.
Davan nodded. "Yes, I do. I have information that bears directly on her
current investigation. But I'll be honest with you, I want something for it."
Picard smiled drily. "I rather imagined you did."
Watcher Sho took a step forward, her shoulders stiff, face frozen in an arrogant
frown almost as intimidating as the Klingon's. "The Federation does not buy
information, Ser Delvekia. especially information of dubious value. We know
that you were involved in the recent attempt on Captain Picard's life, an attack
which deliberately or not cost a woman her life. We suspect, but have not yet
proven, that you were also a party to the destruction of the handful that
remained of Halvam's native population, the Rua'Shi."
"No! I had nothing to do with that! It was Coran, alone. I'd have stopped
him, if I had known. I'd have stopped a lot of what he did, if I could have."
Both Picard and the Watcher looked at the Counselor, who nodded minutely.
"He is telling the truth..."
Davan almost smiled, but the urge faded as she continued.
"...as far as it goes. There were some things he would have stopped his
brother from doing. We do not know what those things were."
"Thank you, Counselor." Watcher Sho said softly, then returned her gaze to
Davan. "Continue, Ser Delvekia. What do you have that is worth my lowering
myself to bargain for?"
Davan took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous surge of acid in his
stomach.
"You want information on how the Halflings were destroyed, and by whom. I know
those things, but under Federation law you cannot force me to testify. It has
to be voluntary. I'll volunteer in exchange for a little leniency on certain
things.
Picard and the Watcher exchanged glances. Davan wondered what that
exchange meant. The Watcher's icy blue-white gaze focused on him, bringing a
slight shiver to his back.
"What kind of leniency?" she asked flatly.
He didn't hesitate. He knew what he needed. "I know you plan to charge me,
it's inevitable. I will plead to complicity after the fact, and that's all."
If possible, her eyes became even colder. "I see. You were 'taken in' by your
brother, made a... a..."
"A dupe." Picard supplied the archaic word. "You expect us to believe that?"
Davan shook his head. "No. Of course not. But I expect you to charge me with
such, or no testimony. And without it, you'll never be able to put together a
case that will convict the only living person who was co-responsible for the
massacre. You'll have a solid case against my deceased brother, against Seret
Ng, and various other Halvami public servants of twenty-five years ago, most
deceased; but not against him. He covers his tracks well."
"How old are you?" The Watcher asked, out of the blue. Davan blinked, then
answered.
"Thirty-six, why?"
She merely nodded, and didn't answer.
He scowled, and repeated his question more forcefully. "Why?"
Picard pinned him to the wall with a look. He began to respect the stories he
had heard about the man and dismissed as hyperbole. He looked down. "Sorry."
Picard didn't acknowledge the apology, but looked away, at the Watcher.
"So, Watcher Sho?"
"I need time to Watch, Captain Picard. A half hour, perhaps a little more. I
will let you know then."
Picard nodded, and the trio turned to leave. Davan resisted the urge to demand
an instant decision. He was in no position to make demands.
###
Outside the brig, Watcher Sho stopped, shaking her head, a frustrated grimace on
her face. "There is something missing, some important element not found. I do
not believe the man in your brig was involved in the original crime, since he
was only ten or eleven when it was carried out; although his actions since then
are certainly suspect. How can he give effective testimony? He must know his
character is not unassailable, and his testimony would be hearsay, and thus
inapplicable. It does not make sense that he would ask for a bargain with us
based on so little. He must have something, some evidence, which supports his
claims."
Picard nodded, eyes distant. "Yes, of course, that does stand to reason. And
since he must have anticipated that he would not be allowed to return to Halvam,
it's a safe guess that whatever it is, he brought it with him." He wheeled
around to look at Worf. "Lieutenant Worf, when Delvekia was beamed aboard,
was he carrying anything?"
"No sir. I searched him myself, thoroughly, he came aboard with only his
clothing."
"Damn, then it has to be on his ship."
Worf nodded. "I planned to search the vessel as soon as your interview with
Delvekia was finished. I will pay particular attention to anything which might
be considered evidence."
"Thank you, Mr. Worf, make it so."
Worf nodded and strode purposefully off down the corridor. The Watcher gazed
after him, her expression hopeful.
"May the Eight Eyes aid his search."
Picard didn't recognize her reference, but concurred with the sentiment.
###
Deanna was halfway back to Ten Forward from the brig when she was paged
again, this time by Riker. She stopped, sighed, and touched her combadge.
"Troi here."
"Deanna, we just received a communication from your mother. She was a bit put
out that you weren't available, but she said to tell you she'd be here in about
an hour."
"An hour!" Deanna exclaimed, taken by surprise. "What did she do, flag down a
racing yacht?"
There was a moment of silence, then a chuckle. "Deanna, sometimes you amaze
me. As a matter of fact, that's exactly what she did. Actually, she played
ship-tag for a while, transferring from one vessel to another until she found
one going this direction at a speed she approved of. She's quite a
resourceful woman."
"Tell me about it," she acknowledged sourly. "Well, thank's for the warning.
If you need me, I'll be in Ten-Forward."
"Need a little fortification before facing the dragon?" he queried with
amusement.
"That wasn't my intention, but it's not a bad idea. Troi out."
She stood for a moment, mastering her apprehension. She had done the right
thing, she knew it, Guinan and Picard agreed with her, so why was she so
nervous? She thought about it, and realized that a good deal of her
apprehension stemmed more from her own strained relations with her mother than
from any worry about how Etain might interact with her. That realization
lightened her mood considerably.
To her surprise, upon entering Ten-Forwad she found that neither Wesley
Crusher or Etain were anywhere to be seen. She turned to the bar to ask Guinan
where they had gone, and found Marekur there instead. She asked him anyway,
and he shrugged, expressing his regret that he did not know where they had
gone. She circled the room once, hoping she had just overlooked them, but the
effort only confirmed her earlier impression. She frowned, wondering where
Wes would have taken Etain. It would be like him to want to show off his
favorite parts of the ship, so either main engineering, or the engineering labs
were likely spots.
"Counselor Troi?"
She looked around, startled, to find Miles O'Brien at her elbow, a large mug of
amber-colored liquid in one broad hand, the other waving toward the table
where she had left Wesley and Etain.
"Were you looking for Wes Crusher, and the Faerie-girl?"
She blinked, puzzled. "Faerie?"
He grinned. "Aye, faerie, elf, you know, the little red-head with the pointed
ears."
"Etain. Yes. But she's not a faerie, she's... well, her people called
themselves the Rua'Shi."
His expression went very odd, and he said something in a language she didn't
understand, though part of what he said sounded very much like Rua'Shi. She
shook her head.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that.
"No, you wouldn't." His accent seemed suddenly more noticeable. "Did you
know, Counselor, that in the Gaelic, my mother tongue, the little folk are
called the sidhe? And that the word for red is ruadh? Strange, isn't it?
Perhaps faerie isn't so far off. In any case, the two of them and Guinan went
off together, I think they were headed for the engineering labs."
"Thank you very much, Mr. O'Brien. You should mention that word correspondence
to the Captain, or to Data. I think they would be very interested, as they've
postulated that at least some of the Rua'Shi's ancestors may have come from
Earth."
"I'll do that, counselor." His gaze ranged past her to someone just entering
the room, and his face lit in a wide smile.
Deanna sensed a surprising depth of emotion from him, and turned to see who it
was he'd smiled at. Two women had entered the room together, she recognised
them as technicians from the botany section. One was a leggy blonde named
Torla, the other a petite woman with straight, black hair and asian features.
Keiko, if she had the name right. She wondered briefly which of them the smile
was meant for, and excused herself to go in search of her stray friends.
O'Brien didn't seem to notice.
Outside Ten-Forward, Deanna stopped at a companel and queried Wes Crusher's
wherabouts. She had been right. He was in the engineering lab, no doubt with
Etain. She hoped he was tempering his pedagogical tendencies, for Etain's
sake. She'd had to absorb more new things in the past few days than most
people learned in a year.
###
The engineering lab was nearly deserted, only a few people working on projects,
most of them casting curious glances toward the trio that sat in the far corner
of the room. Etain and Wesley faced each other across a table, Guinan sat next
to Etain, her expression faintly bemused. Etain had one hand on Wesley's face,
fingers positioned in a disturbingly familiar manner, both of them had their
eyes closed. Deanna stiffened, then glared at Guinan.
__What is going on here?__ She demanded, sub-vocally, hurrying across to
hover beside the tableaux, distressed.
Guinan looked up at her curiously, completely undisturbed.
__An experiment.__
__What kind of experiment?__
__An experiment in learning. Etain mentioned that the machine had tried to
feed information directly into her mind, but that she had refused it, because
it was under duress. Wesley got all excited about the potential for direct
transference of learning via telepathic contact, and insisted they try it.
It's harmless, Deanna, calm down.__
__Calm down? Beverly will skin me alive if anything happens!__
__Nothing's going to happen, believe me, except that Etain may learn a lot more
about physics than she really wanted to know. I've been monitoring, there's
nothing to worry about.__
Deanna concentrated hard, but sensed no disturbance from either of the two
experimenters. She relaxed a little, only slightly mollified. __I still don't
think it was a very good idea.__
__Would you rather I had let them run off and try it by themselves? You know
how Wesley gets when he has a theory to test.__
Deanna smiled a little, and answered verbally, low-voiced. "Yes, I do, at that.
Is it working?"
"It's hard to say. We'll have to wait and ask when they're through."
"How long have they been at it?"
"Not long, about ten minutes. I suspect they're about ready to stop."
Deanna studied the two again, shaking her head. "If it does work, it seems
like cheating, somehow."
Guinan eyed her with an expression of disappointment. "Does everything have
to be learned the hard way? Does it really matter how knowledge is gained, as
long as it is gained?"
Deanna considered that for a moment, and nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you're
right. I guess it's my own prejudice showing. If I had to learn things the
hard way, everyone else should too, right?"
Guinan correctly interpreted her question as rhetorical, and didn't answer.
Movement drew Deanna's attention as Etain let her hand fall and sat back,
rubbing her eyes. Wesley opened his eyes, stretched, and yawned. Guinan
looked expectantly from one to the other.
"Well?" she hinted.
Wesley looked at Etain, equally curious. She smiled brilliantly, reached for a
datapadd that lay unused on the desk and touched several keys before turning
the pad around so Wes could see it. He looked, then grinned.
"It does work!"
Deanna leaned over to look, expecting some arcane equation or other. What
glowed on the small dark screen was not mathmatical symbols, but letters.
Etain had written the words: 'Etain thanks you'. For a moment Deanna was
puzzled, then it hit her. Etain had not been able to read or write. Wes had
taught her something far more immediately useful than physics. He had given
her the ability to communicate.
Without warning, Etain leaned across the table and kissed a very startled Wes
Crusher, who promptly proceeded to turn the same shade as his uniform. After
a moment Wes recovered his equanimity and smiled, a little shyly, clearing his
throat.
"You're welcome." he muttered, glancing around as if to see if anyone had been
watching. When he realized that several people had indeed been watching, his
color heightened again, though less noticeably than before, and a hint of a
smile lurked around the corners of his mouth.
Deanna was no less startled by Etain's gesture than Wesley had been. For Etain
to voluntarily express herself in such a manner was an immense step forward.
Just a day earlier, she had flinched from even accidental touches. Perhaps she
was dealing with things as well as it seemed on the surface. She decided to
forgo the admonition she'd been about to deliver about misusing telepathy. It
was clearly irrelevant. Etain studied her quizzically for a moment, then
'spoke.'
__You seem disturbed, is something wrong?__
Deanna summoned a smile and shook her head, wishing Etain would stop stealing
her lines. __No, nothing. I just came to tell you that my mother will be
arriving soon.__
__Soon?__ Etain asked, surprised. __I thought it took many days to travel
here from Betazed.__
Deanna laughed wryly. __For most people yes. Mother's very resourceful." Her
words evoked her earlier conversation with Will Riker. She realized her
'Lwaxana tolerance levels' were dangerously low. Not good. She needed time to
calm down and prepare herself for the whirlwind that was her mother. Not that
she was going to get it. She was going into this meeting more frazzled than
she cared to.
"Would you like to go discuss Betazed now, as we had planned to earlier?" she
asked Etain brightly.
Etain regarded her searchingly for a moment, then shook her head. __No. I am
a little tired. If you don't mind, I will go to my quarters and rest. I think
that would be best.__
Through her relief, Deanna wondered if she'd just been outmaneuvered. She was
quite certain that Etain had sensed her turmoil and deliberately opted to give
her time to deal with it. She would make a fine counselor, some day, if she
chose that path. "You're probably right. I'll walk you back, if you like."
Wesley's face fell. Etain, though she wasn't looking at him, must have sensed
it, for she shook her head.
__No, Wesley has already volunteered to escort me. I will go with him.__
Deanna nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to govern her smile, knowing it
would wreak havoc on the young man's confidence if she allowed it to escape
her control. She wondered if Etain's manner toward Wes indicated interest, but
decided it probably did not. In fact, it probably indicated that she felt he
was non-threatening. She suspected that was not exactly what Wes wanted her to
feel. It was a good sign, though, that she had allowed another male into her
sphere of acceptance. It would ease her dependence on Picard. She watched
them walk from the room, and turned to Guinan.
"Interesting."
"Always. Your mother's going to have her hands full."
"Yes, she certainly will. Have you ever met my mother, Guinan?"
The dark-skinned woman shook her head. "No, I haven't had the privilege. I
have, however, met a lot of people who have met your mother. It seems no one
ever forgets meeting her."
"That's the truth. I do love her, you know."
"Yes. I know. But you've had to work hard to stay out of her shadow, haven't
you?"
Deanna nodded, then smiled, amused. "Counseling the Counselor, Guinan?"
"Isn't that what a bartender's for? And as your counselor, I'm telling you
that you need some time to yourself. Why don't you bring your mother by Ten-
Forward later, I'll buy her a drink."
"I may just do that. I think the two of you should meet."
"So do I." Guinan said in her usual enigmatic manner, and left the room.
###
Even without empathy, Etain would have sensed that nearly everyone in the room
was apprehensive, it showed in their faces, in their nervous motions, in their
very scent. Their anxiety reinforced Deanna's descriptions of her mother as
rather formidable. She recognized the room as the one containing the machine
that unmade people in one place and then made them again in another. They
must be planning to use it to bring Deanna's mother aboard. A voice spoke,
unfamiliar, a man's voice. Stressed.
"Enterprise, come in please."
"Enterprise here." The man behind the console replied. The unfamiliar man
spoke again.
"Enterprise, this is the Atalanta. Mrs. Troi is ready to beam over." This
time he sounded relieved.
"Acknowledged, Atalanta."
The Captain squared his shoulders and nodded to the man behind the console.
"Energize, Mr. Hollyfield."
The dais shimmered with flecks of manycolored light, moving like sparks in the
wind. The embers coalesced into two pillar-shapes, and then into beings, a
woman, and a very tall, pale man with a death's head gauntness. Etain stepped
back involuntarily, shrinking from the frightening figure. Deanna touched her
shoulder reassuringly.
"That's just Mr. Hom. He's very gentle, you needn't be afraid of him."
Only a little comforted, she directed her gaze to the woman who was stepping
off the dais, imperiously extending her hand to Picard, who had stepped forward
to assist her.
She was dark-haired, and dark-eyed like Deanna, and her figure, though more
mature, was equally voluptuous. Her shimmering green and gold dress was like
nothing Etain had ever seen, cut to emphasize its wearer's figure, wildly
impractical, the bodice and so revealing she might just as well have worn the
heavy, floor-length skirt alone.- She was a little taller than Deanna, and her
face was lined with years of smiles.
"Jean-Luc!" she exclaimed in a loud, affectionate voice. "How lovely to see
you again, you dear man."
Beside Etain, Deanna winced. Picard's smile was rather rigid as he answered.
"It's always a pleasure to welcome you aboard, Mrs. Troi."
Etain was shocked to realize he'd just lied, outright. It was the first time
she had ever known him to lie. Mrs. Troi appeared oblivious to his discomfort
as she took a step away and surveyed him critically.
"Have you put on some weight, Jean-Luc? And what happened to the dress
uniforms?"
Picard's stance stiffened further. "The occasion did not call for dress
uniforms, Mrs. Troi," he stated firmly, not deigning to answer her other
question.
She sighed loudly. "What a shame. I did like those tights-things, but then,
they do show every kilo, don't they?"
Without waiting for an answer, she eyed Riker in the same analytic fashion,
made a disappointed 'tchk'-ing sound and turned to Deanna, speaking to her
daughter telepathically.
__Maybe you were right about this one after all, little one. He's not holding
up well at all. You're looking a bit washed out yourself. And your hair!
Goodness, child, isn't there a hairdresser on this ship?__
Deanna managed to hold onto her temper as she greeted her mother verbally.
Etain stared at the newcomer in disbelief. Her rudeness was outrageous! Her
amazement deepened as she felt the woman send out blatant empathic probes,
scrutinizing the unsheilded human minds for their responses, without regard for
privacy. Etain reacted without thought, instinctively. She interposed her
will between the woman and her friends like a wall of stone, and caught the
extended probes with her own, like an adult catching the hand of a child caught
stealing.
The woman turned toward her, outrage written large on her expressive face.
"How dare you!" she gasped, yanking herself free of Etain's mental hold with
some difficulty. "Do you know who I am? I am Lwaxana Troi, Daughter of the
Fifth House, Keeper of the Sacred Chalice of Reiks... who are you?"
If Etain hadn't been so angry, she might have been intimidated, but the
knowledge that she was right gave her nerve.
__I am Etain,__ she replied firmly. __And you may be those things, but you are
also rude! What gives you the right to go unasked into another's mind, or to
insult and give offense where none was offered you?__
Mrs. Troi gaped at her, then closed her mouth and turned to the Captain who
quickly hid a broad grin behind his hand and a contrived cough. Etain realized
from his reaction that in her agitation she had unintentionally broadcast her
reprimand publicly, they had all heard her, not just Deanna's mother.
"Do I have my usual suite, Captain?" she demanded icily.
"Of course, Mrs. Troi. May I help you..."
"No." she cut him off mid-sentence. "Mr. Hom will bring my things. I know
the way. I see no reason to stand here and be insulted!"
With that she sailed out of the room, trailed by the tall man carrying a large
rounded object. After the doors closed behind her, there was half a minute of
absolute silence, then Deanna began to laugh. Riker joined her, even the
Captain chuckled. The man at the console looked as confused as Etain felt.
She looked at Deanna, then to Picard. Riker wiped his eyes, and shook his head,
still smiling.
"Congratulations, m'lady. A complete rout."
__I do not understand,__ she complained.
Deanna managed to stop laughing long enough to gasp, "I'll explain it to you,
in a moment. After I catch my breath."
Etain nodded, still perplexed. Continuing to chuckle, Picard moved toward the
door.
"Watcher Sho is expecting me. I'll see you later."
Riker regarded Deanna with amusement. "I want to hear this. Go on."
Deanna took a deep breath, then started to laugh again. Riker leaned back
against the wall, crossed his arms on his chest and looked over at Etain with a
grin.
"This may take a while."
Picard stood outside the Watcher's cabin, waiting for her to answer, still
amused by the scene in the transporter room. It was high time someone gave
Lwaxana Troi a taste of her own medicine. He sobered after a moment, though,
realizing that if Lwaxana didn't come around, Etain might have just effectively
ruined Deanna's well-conceived plan. He was still pondering that when the door
opened.
"Captain, you look distressed. Is something wrong?"
"Nothing that need concern you, thank you. Have you come to a decision?"
She frowned. "No. I have not. I need that missing piece."
Picard nodded. "I understand. Perhaps this will help."
He held out a holodisk. She took it from him, eyebrows lifted in curiosity.
"Lieutenant Worf found this aboard Delvekia's ship. It was hidden in the aft
engine housing, behind the reactor shielding, in an idrium plated box. It
would have escaped any standard search, but Worf is rather more efficient than
most security officers. It is a computer-notarized recording of Seret Ng
outlining the reasons for and the implementation of the destruction of the
Rua'Shi. Dates, places, exact information which can be easily verified. It
implicates only a handful of people, very few apparently even knew of the
Rua'Shi's existence. Interestingly, Davan Delvekia is not among those named.
Whatever his crimes, it appears you were right about him. Among those she
indicts are herself, Coran Delvekia, and Jaron Kelssohn."
She looked at it, a smile forming. "Delvekia's 'insurance.' I knew he had to
have something. But where did he get it?"
"Probably from Seret Ng. I would venture to guess she made it shortly before
our meeting, and meant to give it to me there, as she addresses me by name at
the start of the recording."
"This will do it, you know. This will give us the case, without doubt."
"I know. Shall I have Worf take Jaron Kelssohn into custody?"
"No, not yet. The rest of my team should be arriving within the day, and I
think it would be best for my people to make the arrest. Just have him
watched."
"Already accomplished. Worf informs me he has had security personnel on the
ground and here keeping Kelssohn under surveillance since my disappearence.
He and Riker suspected he was involved in that. Worf's tracking him via his
security implant."
"His what?"
"He has an implant that monitors his vital signs and whereabouts at all times,
courtesy of Halvami Security. Worf discovered his code and has been
monitoring it."
She looked impressed. "This Lieutenant Worf sounds like a worthy officer.
Would that I had his like on my staff."
"I wouldn't be without him. He is one of the best I have, and I have more than
my share of the best in StarFleet. He has proven invaluable."
"No doubt. If you will excuse me, I would like to view this now."
"Of course, but may I ask one last question?"
"Certainly."
"Etain. What are your plans for her?"
The Watcher sighed. "Etain, yes. She killed Coran Delvekia, but it can be
persuasively argued that it was in self-defense, and under extreme provocation.
It could even be that she was not entirely in her right mind. I do need her
here both to testify, and for input as to the final settlement of the case,
she being the last living representative of her people." She fell silent and
stared off at nothing for a moment, then nodded decisively. "I will keep her
with me until the trial is over, and then release her to some responsible party
for a probationary period, perhaps two years. During that time she will
receive counseling, and if she shows no tendency toward violence, she will be
released uncharged. I don't believe anyone, other than Jaron Kelssohn, can
possibly object to that."
Picard nodded. "It sounds a reasonable course."
"Do you wish to be considered for the position of probationer?"
He stared at her, a bit shocked. "Gods, no! This is the last place she should
be, and in any case, I'm not cut out for that sort of role."
Kadin smiled. "I suspected you would refuse, but it seemed polite to offer.
Have you any candidate in mind?"
Picard thought instantly of Lwaxana. "We may, I'll have let you know."
"I will await your word. Thank you for your efforts, your help has been
indispensable.
"You are more than welcome. I only wish we'd been able to intervene earlier."
"You and I both, Captain Picard. Good evening."
With a nod he acknowledged her dismissal and headed for his cabin for a little
peace.
###
The door signal emitted its distinctive triple tone, and Picard stiffened,
wondering for a moment if his caller were Lwaxana Troi. He sincerely hoped
not, though after her go-round with Etain earlier that day, he rather suspected
she was sulking in her room. With a sigh he put down his book and sat up.
"Come."
The door slid open and he relaxed immediately. Not Lwaxana, Etain. In one
hand she held her book, in the other a small disc'corder. He motioned her
inside.
"Come in, please."
She nodded and stepped hesitantly inside. He gestured toward the couch.
"Please, sit down. What can I do for you?"
She sat, gingerly, on the edge of the couch, as if ready to leap up and flee.
She glanced down at her hands, then decisively held out her book to him. He
took it, eyebrows lifted, waiting for her to enlighten him. She frowned
slightly, slowly lifted her hands, and executed a series of motions with hands
and fingers. He smiled.
"Yes, I understand you. That's very good. Who's been teaching you Feslan?"
She signed rapidly. He smiled. "Wesley Crusher? That was thoughtful of him.
Now, what did you want to ask me?"
She signed again, her movements hesitant and awkward, but understandable to
anyone who knew the language. He frowned.
"Me?"
She nodded.
"I suppose so, although why you want a recording of me reading your book is
quite beyond me."
Etain began to sign, then suddenly stopped, shaking her head. __I'm sorry. I
cannot find that sign. What is 'remember'?__
He showed her, drawing two fingers across his forehead. She copied the
movement. __Like this?__
"Yes, exactly."
She sighed. __There is so much to remember, it is good to learn that sign, it
seems I need it. It is far easier to speak mind to mind, yet Deanna tells me
it is impolite to do so with strangers so I must use this Feslan of yours.__
She looked at him anxiously. __Do you object when I speak this way to you?__
"Not at all." he assured her quickly. "It's a little disconcerting, but I
understand your preference, especially now while Feslan is still new to you."
She nodded. __Thank you. Deanna says I must not use the mindspeech too much,
or I will not retain the things I have learned, but surely this cannot hurt.
You say you do not understand why I wish to have this recording. I will try to
explain.__ She looked off into the distance, her gaze fixed on nothing. __I
have many memories, Picard, most of which I would prefer to forget. There are
a few, though, that I would keep. Your voice is one of those. You were kind
to me, when I most needed kindness.__
To his surprise Picard felt himself color. He cleared his throat in
embarrassment and looked down at the book he held. "I would be honored, then."
Her gaze returned to his face, direct and candid. __Thank you.__
"No thanks are needed." he gestured to the device in her lap. "Do you know
how to use that?"
She nodded. __Yes. The one who sees by machine showed me. He said that a
child could do it, and obviously he is right, for I had no difficulty.__
Picard was momentarily perplexed by her phrase, then he realized who she
meant and began to smile. "`The one who sees by machine.' Geordi. Do you
have nicknames for all of us?"
She gazed at him blankly. __Nicknames?__
"Like what you just called Geordi."
__Ah.__ she shrugged. __Not all of you, no. Worf is the fierce one, Riker
the bearded one, T'kar the cool one, Deanna the warm one, Data the silent one,
for I cannot hear him. It is easier for me to remember them so.__
"And me?" he prompted.
She shook her head. __I have no need of a... a help to remember you.__
He decided to stop asking questions whose answers he didn't really want to
know, and to cover his discomfort he turned instructive.
"The word you wanted there was mnemonic. Something which aids the memory."
She nodded. __Thank you. I will remember.__
He opened the book. "Ready when you are."
She relaxed finally, tucking her feet beneath her as she settled back against
the cushions and activated the recorder. He was amused to note that she was
barefoot. Shoes were one concession she had not yet made. He wondered how
long it would take before she adapted to that as well.
###
Picard read the final words and closed the book, setting it down and reaching
over to take the recorder from Etain's limp fingers and deactivate it. She had
fallen asleep three stories earlier, but he had continued anyway, not knowing
if he would get a chance to finish the recording at another time. He placed
the book on his table with the recorder on top of it, then sat and watched her
for a moment, realizing how much she had changed in the short time he had known
her. She had been half-feral, virtually a child, with almost no knowledge
outside herself and her narrow experience, yet she had adapted to almost
inconceivable change with astonishing ease. She had changed physically, still
small but no longer thin. No doubt ready access to food had done that for her;
but there were other, more subtle changes as well, a maturity of expression and
depth of emotion that had not been there before. Hardly surprising,
considering her experiences of the past few days. He no longer tended to think
of her as a child, though he hadn't yet begun to see her as a woman. It was a
peculiar, twilight state.
She moved, rearranging herself more comfortably, pillowing her head on one arm.
He shook his head, suppressing a chuckle at her penchant for drifting off in his
quarters, and wondering if her obvious need for rest had anything to do with
her battle of wills with Lwaxana Troi. He got to his feet quietly and went to
his bed to get her a blanket, and covered her with it, then picked up the book
he had been reading and left. He wanted no more rumors.
###
Guinan knew Picard had entered Ten Forward even before she turned around. The
sudden repetition of his title made the rounds, causing a echo-like sussuration
around the room. It was unusual for him to be there now, near the middle of
his off-shift. Usually he would be in his quarters. She extended a subtle
probe in his direction, found him introspective and a little melancholy. She
knew immediately who the cause was, if not why. With a smile she excused
herself from the table she had joined and went to procure a cup of tea, Earl
Grey of course, to take to the table he had chosen which sat some distance from
the others, and commanded a good view of stellar panorama which dominated the
outer wall. She set the cup down in front of him and seated herself while he
took a sip and nodded his thanks. She leaned forward, resting her chin on one
hand.
"So...?"
He lifted an eyebrow, pretending not to understand. She lifted one back at him.
"Don't give me that look," she said acerbically. "What are you doing in here?"
"Having a cup of tea." he replied blandly.
"Mmm, so I see. Why are you doing it here, instead of in your quarters?"
"Because my quarters are otherwise occupied, and I'm taking your advice."
She frowned. "What advice?"
"Etain's fallen asleep there again, and since both you and Will have counseled
me on keeping my reputation pristine, as it were, I thought it prudent to
absent myself."
"Oh." I see," she was silent for a moment. "She's in love with you, you
know."
He flinched slightly, turning his tea cup in slow circles. "I wouldn't put it
quite that way, but yes, I am aware that she has formed an... emotional
attachment to me."
Guinan smiled narrowly. "Cautiously stated."
Picard shrugged. "Your point?" he queried.
"I was just wondering what you plan to do about it."
He shook his head. "I wasn't planning on doing anything about it."
"I see."
He scowled at her fiercely. "Damn it Guinan, don't do that!"
"Do what?" she asked innocently.
"Say 'I see,' like that. It's very annoying."
"I see."
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then looked at her askance and began to
chuckle. "You did that on purpose," he accused.
"Who, me?" She asked ingenuously.
"Yes, you." He shifted his gaze back to her face, and returned to the previous
subject. "Why do you ask?"
"Incurable nosiness?" she offered, then shook her head, suddenly serious. "No,
I was just hoping you weren't planning to try and discourage her."
He shook his head again. "No. I don't think she needs any more hurt right now.
She won't mention it, neither will I. In any case, she'll forget about me soon
enough, once away from here."
Guinan chuckled. "Aren't we modest today?"
He shot her a disgusted glance and took a sip of tea before continuing.
"Speaking of Lwaxana Troi, which we weren't, has she been in?"
Guinan grinned, both at his obvious change of subject and at the subject itself,
"No, though I heard about her encounter with Etain from Deanna. She almost
couldn't stop laughing long enough to tell me about it. She said Etain was her
mother's just reward. I think after the initial shock wears off, they'll get
along quite well."
"I certainly hope so. I will admit that after having put up with Lwaxana on
several occasions, it was rather entertaining to see someone best her."
"Deanna and Will both agree with you."
"I wonder how long it will be before she comes out?" Picard mused.
Guinan gestured toward a table around which a crowd was clustered. "They're
putting odds on it over there."
A slow smile began to spread across Picard's face. "How interesting. What
sort of odds?"
Guinan's nonexistant eyebrows rose expressively. "Jean-Luc, I'm ashamed of
you!"
"No you're not," he said, his voice rich with amusement.
She chuckled. "You're right. I'm not. Come on, let's check it out."
He shook his head ruefully. "Sorry, they'd stop the minute I got within
hearing distance. No, you go, and let me know."
"Suit yourself, but I think it'd be good for them to see you with your hair
down... so to speak."
He stared at her a moment as if he couldn't quite believe his ears, then shook
his head. "Not likely, Guinan, not likely. And watch it."
She stood, smoothly, and nodded. "Watching it, sir."
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply
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Subject: (TNG) Silence, A Novel by Kellie Matthews-Simmons, Part 14
Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1993 12:46:21 -0500 (CDT)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Etain woke up. Her arm had fallen asleep and the unpleasant stinging-tingling
sensation had finally intruded into her almost-nightmares enough to wake her.
She sat up slowly, disoriented, catching the blanket as it slid off her, and
wondered where she was. It took only seconds to remember, and feel embarrassed.
She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but being read to seemed to have that effect
on her. She could sense that Picard was no longer present and felt a pang of
disappointment. There was little time left before she had to voyage to a world
utterly foreign to her with Deanna's mother. A woman she had managed to
thoroughly antagonize. She sighed heavily, she seemed to have quite a talent
for annoying people. There was so much to learn, would she ever know all of
it?
Carefully she folded the blanket and set it on the couch, then picked up the
recorder and touched the playback pad. Picard's voice began, reading the first
few words. Satisfied she turned the device off and lifted her book. After
gazing at it for several minutes, she stood up and walked over to the Picard's
bookshelf and studied it until she found a volume of the same approximate size
and color, then slipped her own book in beside it and stepped back to gauge the
effect. It looked as if it belonged there. She smiled sadly, touched the
book's spine with one finger, saying goodbye, then finally she picked up the
recorder again and left the room.
###
As she walked toward her rooms, Etain suddenly stopped and turned back, half-
tempted to go and retrieve her book. After a moment's struggle she sighed and
shook her head, enforcing her earlier decision. A few steps further on, she
stopped again, this time by the nagging feeling that there was something she
ought to be doing. Before she could decide what it was, a door across the hall
opened and an imperious 'voice' summoned her.
__Come here, child, we must talk.__
She stiffened. Deanna's Mother.
__Stop thinking about me in capital letters like that. My name is Lwaxana,__
her tone softened. __Please, come in.__
Etain turned and slowly walked toward the open door, dreading the encounter.
For a moment she stood on the threshold, and peeked in, looking around for the
tall, pale man who had accompanied Deanna's mother. He was nowhere to be
seen, the only occupant of the room was Lwaxana herself, lounging on a couch,
resplendent in a shimmering garment of metallic purple. She beckoned to Etain,
who reluctantly stepped inside. The hiss of the door closing behind her was
depressingly final. For several long seconds they stood and looked at each
other, then both tried to speak at once.
__I am sorry if I embarrassed you...__
__Forgive my bad temper, child...__
Lwaxana laughed, and Etain smiled, unable to laugh. After a moment Lwaxana
began again.
__I see we've been thinking along the same lines. That should make this easier.
You were absolutely right earlier, I was being rude; but you see, it is the way
I am, and they're all used to me. I venture to say they even expect it of me.
If I didn't needle Jean-Luc a little he'd be disappointed, whether he admits it
or not.__
Etain looked at her doubtfully, and Lwaxana nodded. __Take my word for it. I
only do it to loosen things up a bit, they get so dreadfully full of themselves
sometimes, and so drearily serious. Getting their dignity off-kilter is good
for them.__
Etain began to smile a little. She could see Lwaxana's point. They were all
rather serious, but then, circumstances had contributed to seriousness of late.
Perhaps she was right, they did need to... loosen up. Herself included.
__I did not understand, I'm sorry.__
__I know that now. And it was partly my fault. I overreacted. I do take
things for granted some times, and I guess I can be rather full of myself as
well. Can we start over?__
Etain nodded. __I think I would like that.__
__Good, because it would make things a little difficult if we couldn't. Will
you sit down and tell me about yourself? Deanna had told me only the barest of
bones, and aside from that I have learned only a little about you myself.__
Etain sat, her curiosity piqued. __What is it you have learned?__
__That you have extraordinary mental abilities, are extremely loyal,
protective, and well-intentioned, and you also have excellent taste in men.__
Etain stared at her, puzzled by her last comment. __I do not understand.__
Lwaxana studied her intently for a moment, then shook her head. __No, I don't
suppose you do, at that. Well, you will, once your body finishes playing catch-
up. I was referring to the good Captain,__ she sighed theatrically. __It is
such a shame he's one of those 'married to his ship' sort of men. I've tried
and tried, but to no avail. He simply will not be distracted.__
Etain's puzzlement grew into true bewilderment. __Please, explain.__
Lwaxana looked nonplussed. __Oh dear, your education has been sorely
neglected, hasn't it? I'll have to speak to Deanna about that. Anyone with an
ounce of sensitivity should have seen that you're in Change! She really should
have noticed!__
Etain was beginning to get annoyed. Lwaxana might as well have been speaking
another language for all the sense she made. She did not try to hide her
irritation. __Speak plainly! I do not understand you!__
Lwaxana's brows lifted. __My, my, a little touchy are we? Well, that's
understandable, having one's hormones in flux will do that. You want plain
speaking, you'll have it. How old are you?__
Unprepared for that, Etain had to think a moment. __I am not certain, it was
hard to keep track, but I think I have thirty-four of your years, and a single
Sleep.__
__A Sleep? Oh, yes, Deanna did mention something about hibernation cycles.
Well then, have you any idea at what age your people normally become
physically mature?__
__Between twenty and twenty-five, not counting Sleeps.__
__So, you're long overdue, aren't you?__
Etain nodded, feeling a wave of depression wash over her. __I am. The Maiden
still claims me, I have not been touched by the Mother's hand.__
__Well, my dear, that's in the process of changing, even as we speak. I'd
venture to guess that your diet has improved drastically of late, hasn't it?__
__Yes. Here I am never hungry.__
Lwaxana scowled, her quick temper flaring. __Never hungry? By the Chalice, I
thought it was simply an inefficient diet, not an insufficient one! Has no one
here noticed that you're changing?"
Etain thought about it and nodded slowly. __I have, but I do not know the
cause. The doctor said that some of my...__ she hesitated, groping for the
right concept, __...my readings, were different, but she did not know why, and
I have not pursued it.__
Lwaxana lifted her eyes in exasperation. __What a bunch of idiots!__ She
leaned forward and put her hand over Etain's, reassuringly. __What you sense
is your body maturing, you're becoming a woman.__
Etain's eyes narrowed, a furrow etching between her eyebrows. __I am already
female.__
__Yes, and no. I believe that you would say that the Mother has touched you.
Do you understand that?__
Etain's skin tightened as if a cold wind had blown over her, and her eyes went
wide. She shook her head, slowly at first, then with increasing vehemence, her
breathing shallow and fast. With a painful, inarticulate gasp she leapt to her
feet, fists clenched.
__No! No, not now! I can't! I don't want it! Why would She do that to me?
Even if I did, there is no one left... no one! Must I die as well?__
Lwaxana stared at her, obviously taken completely by surprise by Etain's
reaction.
__Die? Child, what on earth is the matter? It is a time of joy, why do you
fear it?__
Etain shuddered, and without trying to explain, surrendered her flooding
memories to Lwaxana who recoiled, aghast. It took her a moment to gather
herself, and when she did her projection was as gentle as her hand was on
Etain's hair, stroking softly like a mother with a much younger child.
__I cannot say how sorry I am. I did not know, Deanna did not tell me... but
then, I didn't give her much of an opportunity to do so. All I can say is that
is not how it should be, and I hope someday you will learn that. But, though
you have good reason to fear sex, I don't understand why you fear physical
maturity. The two do not have to go hand-in-hand. Why do you associate
maturity with death?__
Etain's expression grew even bleaker. __Because if I become a woman, then one
day the Burning will come, and with the others dead, there is no one for me. I
will die.__
Lwaxana regarded her oddly. __The Burning? Heavens, little-one, you sound
like a Vulcan!__
__They tell me that I am, partly, that the Vulcans were the ones we called the
Shi, who joined their blood to ours at Second Home. Do you tell me they have
the Burning? I do not believe it! They are too... controlled!__
Lwaxana chuckled. __Believe me, they have it. Much as they hate to admit it,
they have it. And they have ways to get around it that you must learn. No one
dies of it, not any more.__
__You are sure of this?__ Etain asked dubiously. It sounded far too easy.
__Absolutely.__ Lwaxana smiled reassuringly. __There would be a lot of dead
Vulcans around if it wasn't so. There are medicines and disciplines which help,
and we will certainly see that you have access to both. Even if that were not
the case, you do not necessarily have to take a mate of your own kind. As long
as you are mentally and physically compatible, any humanoid species would do.
Andorians, Betazoid, Vulcans, Humans, a Klingon might prove interesting...__
Lwaxana's voice trailed off as she gazed speculatively at nothing.
Etain realized that the concept should not have been a surprise to her, after
all, had not Bryn and Athlan been children of Tall Ones? Yet, somehow it was.
__This is so?__ she asked, uncertainly.
__It is. I know of many cross-species pairings. Vulcans are quite prone to
taking Human mates. You are apparently the product of such. Children may even
be possible, should you want them, medical science has become quite adept at
supporting cross-species unions. Deanna's father was Human, and she turned
out nicely, if a little serious.__
Etain had to smile. Despite their surface estrangement, it was obvious that
Lwaxana's love for her daughter ran very deep, and she already knew how the
counselor felt about her mother. She searched for the proper response, and
found it.
__Deanna is very beautiful, in all ways.__
Lwaxana preened. __Yes, she is, isn't she? She takes after my side of the
family,__ she patted the couch beside her. __Come, sit down again... there,
better. Have I managed to put that fear to rest?__
Etain nodded. __Yes. I would sense it if you were lying to me. I will not
die.__
__No, that you will not.__ She leaned forward suddenly and took Etain's hands
in hers. __As for the other... only time, talk, and the right man will prove
that out. I assure you, it is worth the effort you will need to make to
overcome your fears.__
Etain shivered involuntarily at the thought. __If you say so.__
###
The sudden hush that fell in Ten-Forward made Picard look up, wondering what
had caused it. He glanced around, noticed the direction that everyone else was
looking, and turned toward the doors. It was all he could do not to gape like
a half-wit as Lwaxana Troi entered the room like a three-masted-frigate under
full sail, Etain trailing in her wake. Etain, and Lwaxana? In one room,
apparently reconciled, after only four hours? He wouldn't have believed it if
he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. Apparently neither could anyone else.
After a moment, conversations began again, siffly, and most of the crowd around
one particular table thinned out almost instantly, leaving a few disappointed-
looking souls, and one rather smug hostess. Picard caught Guinan's eye as she
reached to pick up somethingfrom the table, and lifted an eyebrow at her. She
grinned, continued her motion, and tucked whatever it was into her sleeve. He
wondered if she'd cheated, after all, her abilities could give her an edge.
Probably not, but with Guinan, one never knew. His gaze returned to Lwaxana,
who had obviously spotted him and changed course toward his position. He waited,
for once actually interested in what she would say. To his surprise, she
exhibited none of her usual flamboyance as she seated herself. Etain smiled at
him, then to his surprise, she turned away and walked over to Guinan.
"What plans have been made regarding Etain, Captain?"
He returned his attention to Lwaxana. "Regarding Etain... in what context?"
"She has told me what happened, all of it. She and I both understand she will
almost certainly be called to account for Coran Delvekia's death. I need to
know what sort of charges will be pending, so I can arrange appropriate
counsel."
Picard was somewhat taken aback. He'd never seen this side of Lwaxana before,
the completely level-headed, take-charge side. For the first time an
comprehensible personality link with Deanna was clear. He straightened.
"I spoke with Watcher Sho about that earlier," he began. Lwaxana interrupted.
"Kadin Sho? Of Efros?"
Picard nodded. Lwaxana looked pleased.
"Good, a sensible woman, and a fine prosecutor. Good choice."
"I agree. As I was saying, I spoke with her earlier and she indicated that at
this time she does not plan to prefer charges. She feels the circumstances
fall under a combination of self-defense and temporary mental aberrancy. She
will, however, recommend her for a probationary period of two years, during
which Etain must reside with a responsible party. The probationary
recommendation will also specify that she receive extensive counseling."
Lwaxana nodded, eyes assessing him shrewdly. "At your suggestion?"
"No, though I would have made such, had it been necessary."
"Mmm. Well then, it looks as if there is no bar to my taking her home to
Betazed."
"Only one. She will have to remain here until the proceedings are completed,
both as a witness, and as the legal representative of the Rua'Shi. It could
take some time."
"Yes, it could. Well then, it looks as if I have a great many arrangements to
make. If you will excuse me..."
"Of course, Mrs. Troi." He stood, politely, and helped her to her feet as
tradition demanded. She held onto his hand for a moment after she stood, eyes
downcast. He tensed, waiting for the proverbial 'other shoe' to drop. After
a moment she spoke.
"Etain made me aware that I have been excessively rude. I'm sorry for that. I
did not intend to be so." she looked up finally, and there was a definite
twinkle in her eyes. "I only meant to be a little rude. Thank you, Captain."
She let go of his hand and sailed away before he could respond. He watched her
go, shaking his head, unable to decide if he was amused or irritated. He
looked for Etain, but didn't see her, she must have gone while he had been
engaged in conversation. He realized with some pleasure that his quarters
were his own once more. He was tired, it would be good to get at least a
little rest.
On his way back, he thought about the fact that they would be departing within
a day. His orders had been to proceed on to their original destination, a
mapping mission of a low-temperature nebula, as soon as Legal had things in
hand. He was both anxious to do so, and a little reluctant. He would liked
to have seen things settled before he left, but that might take months, it was
impossible.
He realized that he would miss Etain, he genuinely enjoyed her presence. Perhaps
that bond she had forged had, to some extent, influenced him more than he had
thought. He found he was frowning and forced himself to stop. Rationally, he
knew it had nothing to do with her temporary enhancement of his empathic side.
That was gone, and had not influenced anything permanently. No, he had to
admit that it was an integral part of his nature to avoid emotional attachments,
and it always took him by surprise when he found that he had, without
comprehending it, allowed someone to become close. He found himself doing it
rather more frequently of late. He smiled to himself, ruefully. Counselor
Troi would be pleased, since she was constantly after him to be more open with
his emotions.
Thinking about Deanna brought back memories of the countless sessions spent on
the Borg, and the startling fact that he could now think of them without nearly
paralyzing fear, and more importantly, without the abyssal guilt. There was
still guilt, still fear, those would never leave him, but they were finally
under control. What a gift... an impossible gift. He should have something to
give in return, but what could possibly equal that?
He was still mulling that thought as he entered his quarters. Just as he set
his book down on the table and headed for his room to change, Worf's voice came
over the companel. He sighed, allowed himself a millisecond's slouch, then
straightened and responded.
"Picard here."
"Captain, I believe Guide Kelssohn is attempting to flee."
Picard rolled his eyes in exasperation. Couldn't the man have chosen some
other time to go renegade? Why did it always seem to work out this way?
"On my way, Lieutenant. Please notify Watcher Sho."
###
The Watcher met Picard in the turbolift, her expression troubled as they rode
together toward the bridge. After a moment she spoke.
"It seems I should not have waited, I did not mean to give him time to escape."
"I doubt he will, Watcher. Mr. Worf is quite efficient."
"That I have had some experience with. I trust you are correct." She paused a
moment, then continued. "Lwaxana Troi paid me a visit earlier. I did not know
she was aboard. She has requested trusteeship of Etain."
"I rather thought she might."
"She is the person you had in mind?"
"Yes, she is, at Counselor Troi's suggestion."
"It should prove an interesting arrangement. The woman-child, and the child-
woman. I wonder which is truly the elder? I had not realized when you
introduced us that the Counselor was Lwaxana's daughter. Interesting, I should
have made the connection, but they are very unlike. A fact for which I would
imagine you are grateful."
"You cannot imagine how much." Picard agreed, shuddering involuntarily at the
thought of Lwaxana Troi in the Counselor's seat. "You appear to know her."
"Does not everyone? The lady Troi has her hands in many pots."
Picard chuckled as the doors opened onto the bridge. If anyone was surprised
to hear it, they masked it well. He strode down the ramp and seated himself in
the seat Will Riker had just vacated. He motioned for the Watcher to take the
seat usually occupied by Counselor Troi. She shook her head, and remained
standing.
"Report, Lieutenant Worf."
Worf nodded, and launched into his explanation. "As you know, I have been
tracking Kelssohn's personal monitor signal. He has boarded a Hkkkai passenger
vessel, scheduled to leave in less than one hour for the Bithrant system. I was
able to access the passenger manifest on file with Terrestria Port Authority,
he was not listed. Further study revealed a passport registration for a man
named Nor Eslan matching his physical description, and using his retinal
scan and identity-codes. Lieutenant Commander Data has been unable to find a
valid passport issued under that name. This appears to confirm my suspicions
that Kelssohn is attempting to escape using falsified documents."
"Bithrant is in The Triangle, is it not?" The Watcher asked, referring to the
area of space which was treaty-shared by the Federation, the Klingon Empire,
and marginally, by the Romulan Empire. Triangle systems were notorious as
refuges for criminals from every sector of known space.
"It is." Worf confirmed.
"If he makes it to the Triangle, we'll never get him back."
"That is so, were he to get that far. However, though the ship is currently
under Halvami jurisdiction, once they leave orbit they will be subject to our
authority, and we can order her to stand to and surrender Kelssohn, as a known
criminal."
The Watcher shook her head. "No. He is not yet wanted, since a warrant has not
been issued."
Picard was startled that she hadn't taken care of that yet. It could take hours
for it to be issued. The matter being a Federation rather than a Starfleet one,
it would take a Federation justice to issue the warrant, Picard did not have
the necessary jurisdiction. That meant finding a Federation justice.
"Computer, location and identity of the Federation justice nearest our current
position."
"Working..." there was a short pause, then the voice spoke again. "At this
time, the nearest United Federation of Planets justice is Justice Aron Nghedi
at Starbase 72."
He looked at the Watcher somewhat pointedly.
"I suggest you contact him immediately, you may use my ready room, it has full
communications access."
She nodded. "Thank you, that would be helpful."
"May I ask why you have not issued a warrant?" he asked quietly as he
accompanied her to the door to allow her access to his sanctum sanctorum.
She nodded. "Of course. It was precisely because I wished to avoid this
situation. I delayed issuing the warrant until the rest of my staff arrived,
in hopes that he might not attempt to flee. My thought was that an orderly
transfer of power to Kelssohn's replacement could be arranged to spare Halvam
some of the shock his arrest will undoubtedly cause. Apparently I misjudged
his level of panic."
"I see, thank you."
Picard relaxed a little, her reasoning was sound. He was glad that her
omission had not been an oversight or poor planning, as neither of those fit
with his assessment of her character. He opened the door for her and returned
to stand just behind and between the operations and navigation stations, his
usual haunt when he was too keyed-up to sit. After a moment he glanced back at
Worf.
"Let me know if the situation changes." he said, though he knew it was
unnecessary.
"Aye, sir."
He studied the planet on the screen, watching the patterns formed by clouds
passing over the variegated colors of land and water. It always seemed ironic
how serene any planet seemed when viewed from this distance. Deceptively so,
in too many cases. Rarely did the scars of greed or hatred mark a planet so
deeply as to show from space. It was a shame that closer examination rarely
revealed such tranquility.
###
Though still tense, Picard had given up pacing out of compassion for his bridge-
crew's nerves, and was seated in the center seat. Finally, Worf broke the
silence.
"The Gksstant's engines are on-line, they are preparing to leave orbit."
Picard nodded, having been expecting it. He hadn't believed the Watcher would
be able to get her warrant issued that quickly. He rubbed his thumb absently
across his lower lip as he thought for a moment, then looked up.
"Have they filed a route?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, feed it into the navigation computer. Ensign Henley, give them ten-
minutes' lead, then follow them. Be leisurely, and stay out of their sensor
range, I don't want to alert them to our intent."
"Aye, sir." The young woman at the navigation station paused a moment to read
the route codes as they flashed across her console, then keyed in her own route.
Minutes passed, then she looked up.
"Course plotted and laid in, time is now ten minutes from Gksstant's mark."
Picard nodded. "Thank you, Ensign, take her out. And remember, not too close."
She smiled. "Aye sir, not too close."
###
They had been following the Gksstant for close to two hours when Kadin Sho
finally emerged from his ready-room, looking somewhat worn, but smiling.
"It is done," she said as she came to stand beside him. "It took some doing,
he was reluctant, given the short notice, but once I made him aware of the
situation, he finally agreed to do it. We should receive confirmation of it
at any moment now."
"Good. I was beginning to worry that we would miss our window of opportunity."
"I could not let that happen. Crimes of this nature must not go unpunished.
On Efros, we would..." She broke off, and lifted her head to stare at the
viewscreen intently. "We are no longer orbiting Halvam. Why?"
"We're following the Gksstant."
She appeared surprised. "I had not realized it had been so long. I was too
absorbed in presenting my case."
"Captain." Worf spoke into the pause. "Message incoming from Starbase 72."
"On screen."
"Enterprise, this is Justice Aron Nghedi, do you read?"
Picard studied the man whose image gazed out at him. He looked to be in his
sixties, wirily built and ascetic-looking, almost regal. He was very dark-
skinned, with thick, short-cropped greying hair. His face was deeply lined,
his eyes dark, and penetrating. As a Federation justice he wore no uniform,
but his clothing were of conservative cut and sober color. Picard
unconsciously reseated the lower edge of his tunic before replying.
"This is Captain Picard, Justice Nghedi, and yes, you are quite clear."
"Picard? A pleasure to meet you, Captain, if this can properly be called a
meeting. But, to the matter at hand. I trust I do not need to fill you in
regarding the Halvami situation, since it was you and your people who uncovered
it. Suffice it to say, that I have agreed that there is enough evidence to
hold Guide Jaron Kelssohn of Halvam on suspicion of a colonial Prime Directive
violation, multiple counts of murder, and conspiracy. A warrant has been issued
for his arrest, it should be in your data bank now. I formally request that
you act in this matter on behalf of the United Federation of Planets as you
see fit."
"Thank you, Justice Nghedi. I will. Picard out."
The justice acknowledged his sign-off with a slight inclination of his head,
then his image faded, replaced by the star-filled view from the forward sensors.
Picard stood.
"Ensign Henley, set an intercept course, full impulse."
"Aye, sir," she said, fingers flying, "plotted and laid in, sir."
"Engage."
There was no perceptible acceleration as the ship leaped forward. Picard had
always been bothered by that, in some dark corner of his mind. It seemed he
should be able to feel the change in power somehow, like the change from sub-
light to warp-speed which was heralded by the doppler shift of the starlight.
He looked up at Worf, waiting, tense, at the Security station.
"Hail the Gksstant, Mr. Worf. Ask her to stand to, and surrender Jaron
Kelssohn."
"Aye sir." The Klingon's massive hands clenched once as he spoke with the
other ship, the only sign of his craving for battle.
Picard was slightly surprised when the other ship immediately slowed, then
stopped. He had not expected it to be quite that easy. He studied its image
on the viewer, and thought he understood why. The Gksstant was obviously
incapable of a fight, or, for that matter, of a flight. The ship was so
ancient he wasn't entirely sure what held it together, but he wasn't ruling out
corrosion.
"Enterprise, this is Captain Hros, of the Gksstant."
A face appeared on the viewscreen, a woman, or rather, a female Hkkkai. Her
face was a mottled shade of bluish-purple that on a human would have had him
calling for medical assistance. He recalled that among the Hkkkai the color
her anxious gaze was a startlingly similar hue. She leaned forward in her seat
as she continued, which had the effect of making all the bridge crew draw back,
instinctively.
"I assure you that we would be pleased to surrender this Kelsson person, were
he aboard, but there is no one by that name. You must have mistaken us for
some other vessel."
"We have the correct vessel, Captain Hros," Worf responded. "The man we seek
may be using the name Nor Eslan."
"Eslan?" She blinked, her inner-eyelids a white flash across her vertical-
pupiled eyes. "Haaais, bring me the passenger manifest."
After a moment she looked down at something, and back up. "Yesss," her accent
slipped momentarily into the sibilance of her native speech. "Eslan we have."
She looked offscreen, to someone on her bridge. "Haaais, you have let a criminal
on board! Bring him at once!"
She moved in an odd manner, followed by a slapping sound and a startled yelp
of pain from the unseen Haaais. Picard recalled that Hkkkai were possessed of
extremely strong, barb-tipped tails, which they did not hesitate to use. He
suspected the unfortunate Haaais had just borne the brunt of Hros' irritation.
The order given, Hros returned her attention to the viewscreen and attempted to
smile, baring toothless gums and a two-inch pair of curved ivory fangs.
Picard tried not to shudder in response.
"Sssorry, Captain of Enterprise. Haaais is not the most intelligent of Hkkkai,
but he does what I say. I should have checked passenger credentials myself."
Picard knew she was fishing for him to tell her she was free to go, once she
had given up Kelssohn. He strung her out a little.
"Yes, Captain Hros. You should have," he told her severely. "If you had
checked your passenger's credentials through properly, you would have found
there is no Nor Eslan. I wonder if any of your other passengers might be
carrying falsified credentials."
Hros' color became even darker, and her tongue flicked out in agitation. "None,
I assss... assure you! None at all. My ship is completely respectable! It is
just that there are only four of us, and so much work..."
"I am sure it is, Captain, you are obviously understaffed,"
Picard said soothingly. "I'm sure it was simply by chance that this person
happened to choose your vessel."
"Yes, yes precisssely! Ah, here is that wretch, Haaais, with the criminal."
Hros finally moved away from the viewer and allowed a full-screen scan of her
bridge. It was remarkably well-equipped, and in good condition, considering
the state of the vessel's exterior.
His trained eye scanned her set-up assessingly, and recognized several pieces
of state-of-the-art equipment. Her throne-like seat appeared to be carved from
real wood, was heavily padded, and upholstered in what looked like tapestry.
There was definitely more to the Gksstant than first glance would assume.
To one side of the conn stood two very large Hkkkai males, holding a human
between them. One of the Hkkkai had a pair of parallel slashes across the side
of his face which oozed dark fluid, no doubt a souvenir of Hros' tail barbs.
His prisoner was a big man, silver-hair in disarray, and wearing freight-
workers' coveralls, but all too familiar. Picard nodded to him.
"Guide Kelssohn. What a pleasant surprise."
"Picard," he acknowledged drily. "I'm afraid I can't say the same."
"I didn't think you would. Mr. Worf, take a security detail to ... 'welcome'
Guide Kelssohn to the Enterprise."
"Aye captain." Worf barked several names into the companel, ordering them to
report to the transporter room, and left.
Hros's face loomed close to the screen once more.
"What has the criminal done?" She asked curiously.
"Suspected criminal, Captain Hros." Picard corrected her, though in this case
it nearly went against the grain to grant innocence until guilt was proven
unequivocally. "His guilt will be determined by a court. As for what he may
have done, you will be learning that shortly, I have no doubt, from the media.
Thank you for your cooperation, you are free to go as soon as we have Kelssohn
aboard."
Her relief was obvious as her color lightened to pale violet, the normal color
of a Hkkkai female. As she expressed her thanks, he wondered what the cargo
was that she was so anxious to protect. The Hkkkai had a reputation for
disdaining Federation laws, so her giving up Kelssohn so readily clearly
indicated she had something aboard she didn't want them to know about.
Something illegal, no doubt. The image on the screen returned to the starfield,
and Worf's voice came over the com.
"Guide Kelssohn is aboard, sir. Shall we escort him to the brig?"
"Yes, Mr. Worf. Do so. The Watcher and I will join you there in a few
moments."
"Aye sir, Worf out."
###
A commotion brought Davan to his feet to see what was going on. Unfortunately
he couldn't see anything from his cell. He heard a voice complaining about the
'accommodations' and stiffened in disbelief. Jaron? Here? It seemed unlikely,
but that tone of bland arrogance was too familiar to belong to anyone else. He
frowned. If they had Jaron, that meant they had evidence, of some kind. Other
wise they would not have been able to arrest him. His thoughts went
immediately to the recording of Seret Ng he had stashed in his ship. Could
they have found it? He had taken great pains to make it all but impossible to
find. But... they had Kelssohn.
The Klingon spoke, loud and reprimanding. The argument was apparently resolved,
not, he suspected, to Kelssohn's liking, for he heard the subtle whine of a
force-shield springing into place in a nearby cell. Despite his worry, he
couldn't suppress a grin at the muttered expletive he overheard. It was good
to know he wasn't alone. His guilt was nothing compared to Kelssohn's and he
knew a jury would be aware of that. He settled back onto the narrow but not
uncomfortable bed and waited, listening intently, waiting for further
developments.
His wait wasn't long. Within minutes, he heard new voices, Picard, and the
Efrosian Watcher. He heard the woman list off the charges against Kelssohn,
and mentally added a few. He heard Kelssohn protest both his innocence, and
his arrest. If he hadn't known better, the affronted, grieving tone Jaron used
would almost have convinced him. Apparently neither Watcher Sho or Captain
Picard were convinced. They spoke for a few minutes more, saying nothing of
particular interest to Davan, then he was startled as they moved to stand
before his cell. He stood, immediately, and walked to within a few centimeters
of the force-screen. Despite himself, he began to hope.
"Captain Picard, Watcher Sho... have you considered my offer?"
"I have," the Watcher stated gravely.
"And?" he prompted nervously.
"I have decided not to prosecute you for involvement in the original massacre
of the Rua'Shi, but only because at the time you must have been a boy of what,
ten? Eleven? I doubt even the most felonious of eleven-year-olds could have
had a hand in designing or administering the plague which destroyed them. As
for your crimes since then, we will see what the evidence presents. If you
wish to testify for the prosecution, it is possible that the justice and jury
assigned to this case may be more inclined to leniency. Then again, they may
not. It is up to you. Your testimony would be useful, but not necessary. We
have the sworn statement of one who was involved, as well as corroborating
testimony from the sole Rua'Shi survivor."
Davan's hopes fell to the floor and shattered. They had Seret Ng's recording.
What else could she mean? Then her other statement sank in. Sole survivor.
"Survivor? Coran blew them all to hell and gone! How could anyone survive
that? It melted titanium girders!"
"You knew?" The Watcher gasped, shocked.
"No!" Davan exclaimed. "But I saw the site, no one could have survived that!"
"Etain wasn't in the fire." Picard said, flatly. "She was in the Rua'Shi city,
Dhara, guiding the away team Coran tried to ambush. Fortunately, she was able
to detect him, and his men, in time."
"Etain?" Davan asked, puzzled. He'd been in charge of the Dormitory for three
years, when he was still a lieutenant. None of them had been named Etain.
Abruptly a memory surfaced, a few days before the fire, one of his men had been
involved in an altercation behind a restaurant not far from the Dormitory. He
had sworn that he had seen a mysterious halfling female. The restauranteur
who'd knocked him unconscious with some sort of kitchen utensil had filed a
complaint against him, accused him of stealing food, and had also said he'd
tried to molest a young woman. They hadn't been able to locate the girl.
The men Coran had sent to kill Picard's rescuer had also described a physically
mature halfling female. With sickening clarity Davan remembered listening to
the five men who returned unscathed joking and bragging about the mission,
and he knew, as Coran must have known in the end, that she had somehow
survived. He ran a hand through his hair, shaken, wondering how she could have.
It was almost as unthinkable as a halfling surviving the fire. More than
that, how could she have been well enough two days later to lead a Starfleet
away-team to Dhara?
Picard spoke as if reading his mind. "If I find that you had anything to do
with what happened to her... "He left the sentence unfinished.
As Davan looked at Picard's grim face, at the harsh lines suddenly graven there,
he thanked every deity he could think of that he hadn't been the one who'd
issued that order.
"I had nothing to do with that. Coran was running the show, until he died.
Strange, I never knew he had a heart condition."
Picard and Watcher Sho exchanged a speaking glance. Davan wondered what
had prompted it. To his astonishment, Picard smiled, very slightly, not very
pleasantly.
"He didn't."
###
Sitting alone in her room, Etain eavesdropped shamelessly, and with
satisfaction. She had killed the worst of them, but those who had aided the
Darkmind were caught, and would be brought to justice. Having met the Watcher,
she now had no doubt about that. She poked at her own feelings, prodding,
searching, until she was assured that there really was no part of her that
wanted to do to these two what she had done to the Darkmind. That was gone,
the worst of her rage burned away in a cleansing flash. Not that it was all
gone, she suspected that it might never go away, not completely, but it was
under control now, like Picard's fears of the Borg. It would never be able to
rise up and destroy her. She sighed, and withdrew herself from their thoughts
only a little guiltily. She knew she should not have listened without their
permission, but her need had outweighed her manners.
She stretched to relieve the ache in her lower back, and longed for the hot-
springs of her childhood. Their showers were pleasant, but not what she needed
at the moment. Her attempt to sleep in a 'real' bed, like theirs, had only
proven to her that sleeping in beds did not agree with her. This sleep-time
she would return to her c_s, her nest of cushions on the floor.
Feeling restless and odd, she got to her feet and paced a few steps. Why was
she restless? Things were coming to conclusions. She knew where she was to go,
her course, at least for a little while, was set. She thought of Lwaxana and
smiled, glad that she had not spoiled her chance there. The Counselor's mother
was not who she would have chosen as a teacher, but at least life with her
would not be unpleasent. Etain had had a lifetime of fear, of hiding, of
enforced ignorance. She never wanted to experience those things again.
With a peculiar sense of exhilaration, she began to dance, a simple, childhood
dance, remembering the songs the fiarsain had sung for them so long ago. She
danced until she got dizzy, and laughing silently, let herself fall, winded,
onto the couch. A drawing ache bloomed in her stomach. Was she hungry? She
thought for a moment about using the machine which made food, but could not
think of anything she wanted. A trickle of something mahogany snaked down
her inner thigh. She stared at it blankly, and realized suddenly what it was.
Panic gripped her, and she tried to gather her wits enough to go inside, to
find what was wrong, then it came to her that nothing was wrong. Hadn't
Lwaxana told her? Peace returned, and she started to smile again. She would
not fear it. She would welcome it. She thought hard to remember what Mhaiv
and Briit had told her about the ceremonies which attended the event. It had
been a long time, and she hadn't paid much attention at the time, but one thing
she did recall; it was a thing only for women. Still smiling, she reached out.
__Lwaxana, Deanna, Guinan? Are you there?__
A moment later, somewhat startled assurances came to her. Lwaxana must have
sensed that moment of fear, for her thoughts were tinged with concern.
__Are you alright, child? Are you well?__
__I am well, I am alright, but I am no longer a child. The Mother has touched
me, finally. Will you come, and celebrate with me?__
The Counselor seemed puzzled, but Guinan knew. Etain could almost feel her
smile.
__Of course we will! In fact, we'll bring along Beverly and Kadin Sho, too, if
that's alright.__
__I would like that.__
__Wait, I don't understand.__ Deanna protested. __What are we celebrating?__
Etain sensed a quick exchange between Lwaxana and her daughter, felt Deanna's
startled comprehension, quickly followed by gladness.
__I didn't realize you were not... though I should have. I will come,
certainly. Congratulations!__
###
Data was on his way to engineering to meet with Commander LaForge about his
experimental sensor modifications when he stopped, tilting his head slightly to
one side, listening intently. Someone was singing in the corridor. To be more
precise, several someones, all female, judging from the pitch. The singing was
accompanied by a rhythmic repetition of a hollow 'doum' sound, and a lot of
laughter. He was puzzled. Listening grew easier as the singers approached, he
still could not see them, but he could hear them. He recognized the language
as Betazoid, but was unable to translate the meaning of the words, as some were
pronounced in a slurred fashion which made them difficult to decipher.
The singers appeared from around a corner. Lwaxana Troi was in the lead,
tapping on a small, wasp-waisted drum, followed by Etain, then Counselor Troi,
Guinan, and finally Doctor Crusher. Etain wore what appeared to be leaves in
her hair, and was swathed in a garment which bore a startling resemblance to a
bed-sheet. The entire group was flushed of face and grinning. He detected
alcohol molecules in the air as they approached, alcohol, not synthehol. They
were not just singing, they were dancing, or attempting to. Their efforts were
somewhat uncoordinated. Deanna waved at Data as they passed him, and continued
in their odd behavior, bursting into even louder laughter once past him. He
stared after them, puzzled, until they disappeared around another curve, heading
in the general direction of Holodeck Three. Deciding he was not going to be
able to make sense out of their behavior with what little information he had,
he turned and moved on.
Rounding the corner from which the group had emerged, he came face-to-face
with the Captain, staring back in the direction from which Data had just come
with a rather bemused expression on his face. Data felt safe in assuming that
the reason for his bemusement was probably the same as his own. He stopped,
waited a moment for the Captain to register his presence, then proceeded with
his question.
"Captain, if I may ask, what..."
The Captain interrupted, shaking his head. "I have absolutely no idea. None
at all."
"Oh. I see." Data had learned that was the appropriate response in such a
situation, even if one didn't really see at all.
Picard chuckled. "Sometimes, Mr. Data, human behavior is incomprehensible
even to other humans. Let it rest."
"Aye sir. Thank you."
"For what?" Picard asked, rhetorically it seemed, as he turned and walked away.
Data pondered the incident for a moment longer, then filed it for future
reference and continued on his way.
###
Epilogue
Picard glanced up as the lift doors opened, and nodded slightly, acknowledging
Deanna Troi's presence on the bridge. She smiled back broadly, obviously
pleased about something. She seated herself, arranging her azure skirt to her
liking, then turned toward him.
"I received some news from my mother today, Captain, I thought you might like
to hear it."
He lifted an eyebrow sardonically. "I take it she has decided we are not her
favorite vacation spot after all?"
Deanna laughed, and shook her head. "No, the news isn't that good, I'm afraid.
No, this actually doesn't really concern my mother, but rather Etain."
Picard sat up a little straighter, immediately interested. "Yes? How is she?"
"She's fine, doing extremely well, in fact. The private tutors mother hired
have been very pleased with her progress, and her therapist also reports that
she is making headway. All in all, she is far ahead of where they thought she
would be by now. But more importantly, the trial ended two days ago."
Picard's smile faded. "And?" he prompted.
Deanna's expresssion grew serious. "Jaron Kelssohn was convicted on all counts.
Davan Delvekia was convicted of conspiracy, and several other offenses, though
not so many as Kelssohn. A few others were indicted and convicted as well,
though apparently most of the original conspirators are now dead. Surprisingly,
Etain requested that they be treated leniently, apparently because she feels
their behavior was psionically influenced. They've all been recommended for
extended rehabilitation on Oranos Five."
Picard shook his head, frowning. "It seems so little, when one considers the
magnitude of what they did there. Did they ever explain why they did it?"
Deanna sighed. "Not to anyone's satisfaction, Kelssohn just keeps on with the
usual nonsense about not wanting to lose the colony. We know from what Etain
told us that Coran Delvekia was psionically talented, and that his father was
terrified of psi-users, and fanatical in condemning them. If he found that his
own son was talented, he would no doubt have stuck out at him. A child forced
into that kind of fear and self-loathing could not help but be mentally
unstable, fearing and rejecting his gifts. He may have seen in the Rua'Shi a
threat of exposure, as well as fundamentally jealous of their open use of their
gifts. He may unconsciously have used his own talent to gain influence, and to
manipulate others into helping him obliterate the Rua'Shi, thus eliminating
what he perceived as a threat to his own safety."
Picard scowled. "I cannot believe a parent would..." he began, then hesitated
and shook his head. "No, I suppose I can, though one would hope that they would
not. If it's true, it was not entirely Delvekia's fault that he became what he
did. That explains Etain's reaction to his death more clearly. She must feel
dreadful."
Deanna tilted her head slightly to one side as she gazed at him, alerting him
to the fact that she was puzzled by his behavior. "You could ask her. It's
not as if we don't know how to contact her. She and mother leave for Betazed
within the week. Mother says Etain is very well, and looking forward to
attending classes at the Reiks Academy."
Picard's eyebrows lifted. "The Reiks Academy? Isn't that a little advanced for
someone with only six months of formal schooling?"
"Apparently not. Mother informs me that Etain passed the entrance examination
in record time. It appears she's put that auto-learning technique she and Wes
developed to good use."
"So it does." He stared off at nothing for a moment, then turned his attention
back toward her. "Did she mention what decisions were made about the
Preserver site, the city, or about the possibility of cloning from the
preserved genetic material?"
Deanna nodded. "As the last surviving Rua'Shi, Etain has complete control over
all Rua'Shi holdings, however she has agreed to allow Federation scientists
full access to Dhara and the Preserver complex, for as long as she sees fit.
She has not yet decided on the genetic material, and has placed it in
Federation safekeeping, with the proviso that no one is to experiment with it.
She does not yet feel it time to make a final decision."
He nodded. "I understand. It must be very difficult for her. It seems oddly
coincidental that you should receive word now. Last night I was looking for my
copy of Tacan Elidaz' Eilor, when I found Etain's book there, the one which had
her name-story in it. I didn't even know it was there, until now. A gift, I
suppose, though it seems odd that she didn't mention it."
Deanna eyed him, thoughtfully. "Mmm. Interesting."
Picard rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Did you know that you
sound exactly like Guinan when you say that?"
"Do I?" Deanna asked mock-innocently. "I wonder why?"
Not deigning to reply, Picard turned back toward the viewscreen with its
uninterrupted view of space, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. The
Counselor decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and settled
back to enjoy the view as well.
###
Etain stood at the viewplate and watched the stars shift and stream away as the
ship traveled. She smiled a little, remembering a time not-so-long gone when
such a view would have terrified her. Now, it drew her, distracting her from
the task at hand, ostensibly helping Lwaxana try to decide which of her myriad
gowns to wear for their arrival on Betazed. Mostly, though, her thoughts were
as far from such matters as the stars she watched. For over half a year she
had been in a kind of stasis, waiting for the trial to be over. Now that it
was, the sudden freedom felt strange. She was free, the Federation jurors had
decided her killing of Coran Delvekia fell under self-defense, despite what she
felt were damning indications to the contrary. She had not held back, had told
them what she had done, and why, yet still, they had declined to convict her.
What recompense she could make for having killed him, she would have to decide
for herself. Perhaps they had sensed that what she chose would be more than
they would have imposed on her. They had been more than fair, startlingly so.
She was now the guardian of her people's future... or lack thereof. Not that
she wanted that responsibility, but as the last of her kind, they had thought
it appropriate. She was not ready yet to take up that burden, though. She
needed time, she needed freedom. First.
She thought about all the stories Lwaxana had told her about Betazed. If only
half of them were true, she would surely enjoy life there, but knew she could
not stay there forever. Not only could she not remain indebted to Lwaxana so
long, but there were too many worlds she had never seen. During the months of
waiting she had learned something about herself. More than anything else, she
needed to know. Not just to learn what she could from books, or the minds of
beings who were willing to share their knowing with her. She wanted to know
firsthand, to discover for herself. That she could not do confined to one
world.
She wanted to see the bronze sky and feel the heat of the Second Home, the world
called Vulcan. She wanted to see the vast oceans and green continents of the
First Home, Earth. After that, she would learn as many worlds as she could,
their ways, their philosophies, their visions. Only then might she be wise
enough to make the decision that haunted her dreams. The fate of her people
lay in her hands, in her body. She could not take that duty lightly. It
required wisdom, and that was only gained through experience.
Wisdom. The word conjured three people immediately. Mhaiv, Guinan, and Picard.
She wondered if she would ever have that sort of wisdom. Thinking of Picard and
Guinan made her wonder where the sleek silver form of the Enterprise glided now,
what distant, fascinating place did she explore? That way of life called to
her, she could see herself aboard such a ship, among such people, but was it
because of her need to know, or because of the emotional ties she felt to the
inhabitants that ship? She did not know that either, yet. In time, she would
know, and decide. Decisions always required time.
Finally, she felt Lwaxana's intense dark gaze on her and looked up to find her
foster-mother watching her quietly, a gown held, forgotten, in her hands.
__Are you well, little one?__ she queried, gently.
Etain smiled slightly. __Yes, I am well. I was thinking of what is to come.
There is so much to learn, yet, despite all I have already learned.__
__Yes, there is. You are very wise, to know that.__
Etain was startled. She had just been thinking about wisdom... After a moment,
she shook her head. __You must stop 'listening' without permission, my
mother.__
Lwaxana wrinkled her nose disdainfully. __Where's the fun in that? Come now,
you're far too serious tonight. Will you play for me?__
Hiding a smile, Etain opened the pouch which hung from her belt, and took out
her flute. It had arrived one day, during the waiting, addressed to her, with
no sender's name attached, but she had known instantly whose gift it was.
There was only one person who knew what it would mean to her, and what it
should look like. Lwaxana had looked at her askance when she had received it,
but for once had not pried. The red-gold wood gleamed in the light as Etain
rubbed her fingers absently over the carved interlace that ran down its spine
and encircled the finger-holes, then lifted it to her lips and began to play.
###
______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992, Kellie Matthews-Simmons
matthews_k@cubldr.colorado.edu//matthewk@spot.colorado.edu
all rights reserved
Standard Disclaimers Apply